


Just Let Me Know

by SoftlyandSwiftly



Series: Knowing, Forgetting, Forgiving, and Believing [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Band Fic, Canon, I swear, Like I'm really sorry about it, M/M, Memory Loss, Mentions of Sophia, So much angst, but it's a happy ending, harry and louis are a mess, mentions of Perrie/Zayn - Freeform, mentions of danielle - Freeform, zayn's pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-15 22:23:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 72,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3464252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoftlyandSwiftly/pseuds/SoftlyandSwiftly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn wakes up in a hospital, eyes blurry and head pounding, only for a doctor to tell him he's lost two years of his life. And if that's not awful enough, something's different with Liam, off like something has changed, and Zayn doesn't understand.<br/>Until he does.<br/>And then it's somehow worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I: In the Hospital

**Author's Note:**

> So, uh, hi. I'm new to writing Ziam fanfic so give me a break if this is absolute shit? I'm also not British so cut me some slack on that front. You can blame this entirely on my friend Courtney because I possibly wrote it for her. Let me know what you think and enjoy reading!

“He didn’t tell you?”

  
The words filter in slowly, like water dripping over his mind, washing away the stain of heavy sleep that surrounds his thoughts. A bitter taste makes itself known on the back of his tongue as Zayn stirs towards wakefulness, and he feels his face twitch into a slight frown because the taste is familiar but not exactly welcome. It is the taste of unnatural sleep, heavy in his mouth – sleep brought on by alcohol or, more recently, those pills that management forced on him because he hasn’t been sleeping well and ‘bags under your eyes aren’t good for your image, Zayn.’ Zayn thinks his appearance is the least of their worries concerning his image, but he has taken to swallowing the pills anyways because he honestly hasn’t been able to say no to management yet.

  
But not last night. He doesn’t remember swallowing a pill last night, and he shouldn’t have had to. He was with Liam last night, or he should have been with Liam last night, and Zayn always sleeps the best with Liam wrapped around him.

  
“Are you honestly surprised though?” another voice breaks through, and Zayn feels his face twitch once more because that’s Harry. He’d recognize that drawl anywhere, even though it’s sharp right now like Harry’s worried but also deep like he’s just woken up.

  
“No,” and there’s that first voice again, and it’s only slightly familiar which confuses Zayn because a foreign voice shouldn’t be here. Harry’s voice isn’t terribly out of place, even though Zayn known he’s in Liam’s bed right now, in Liam’s room at the most recent hotel they happen to be staying at for however brief a time. All of the boys just barge into each other’s rooms though, and Zayn has woken up to Harry prodding him more than once, though usually it’s Louis – impatient and anxious with some new adventure in mind.

  
But this other voice, this girl’s voice, isn’t normal, and Zayn tries to place it. The only explanation his still sluggish mind can come up with is that she’s with management, which instantly makes him tense up, heart pounding in irritation and slight fear because management’s really been on him these past few weeks.

  
Zayn fully expects Harry to shake his shoulder gently, to wake him for whatever new problem management has with Zayn. What he does not expect is a sudden beeping by his head, impossibly loud, which startles his eyes into opening. Immediately fluorescent lights glare at him and Zayn cringes, his head – so foggy seconds ago – screaming in pain. A gasp escapes him, and he’s reaching for his head when a hand encircles his, gripping tightly. He feels a familiar flare of warmth in his chest before he realizes that the hand isn’t Liam’s, can’t be Liam’s because Zayn’s got the texture of Liam’s hands memorized.

  
When he forces his eyes open again, they water slightly and Zayn has to blink a few times before Harry’s face swims into focus, and then Zayn’s gasping again because while the man – not boy – looking down on him is definitely Harry, he’s also _no_ _t_.

  
Zayn yanks his hand away and jerks upright without thinking and then his head screams in pain again, his vision blacking out as he claps his hands over his ears, but it isn’t helping because he can still see the image of _not_ Harry and now he can hear him frantically calling Zayn’s name in that different voice because, fuck, his voice is deeper. Zayn barely hears that other voice – the girl’s voice – saying something and then footsteps and then suddenly Harry’s hands are on his, tugging lightly.

  
Zayn goes to pull back again but the echoes of intense pain from his last sudden movement are still reverberating in his head, and he manages to register that Harry’s hands feel the same, if slightly larger, his voice the same, just slightly deeper. So, Zayn lets Harry tug his hands away from his head and he sheepishly opens his eyes, having closed them when that impossible pain had flared up in the back of his head – that pain that’s still there actually, curling around the base of his spine and making his stomach twist with slight nausea.

  
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Harry’s chanting, his face a mask of familiar concern, and even though the expression is the same, Zayn can’t help but notice the differences. Harry’s face is thinner, his baby fat gone, and shit, his hair...

  
“Zayn?” Harry’s calling. “Oh, God, you weren’t supposed to move. Christ, are you alright?”

“Harry,” Zayn interrupts, and Harry’s mouth immediately snaps shut. “Harry what the hell happened to your hair?”

  
He didn’t mean to just blurt it out like that, but he’s honestly so shocked, and then Harry’s dropping Zayn’s hands to reach up for his own hair, so much longer than it should be, less curly, a ruffled mess that Zayn knows must be fake. “My hair?” Harry echoes in complete confusion, “what about it?”

  
But Zayn’s lost focus of Harry’s hair now because his eyes are glued to Harry’s arms – Harry’s very tattooed arms. “What the fuck?” he hears himself mumble, hands automatically seeking out all of the new ink, rubbing at it, but it doesn’t blur which makes no sense because Zayn had just seen Harry yesterday, and he had had one tattoo, just the one. But these tattoos aren’t moving and Zayn knows that they’re real and that feeling of nausea grows in the pit of his stomach because Harry just has a shit ton of old ink on his arms, and Zayn doesn’t understand.

  
“Zayn?”

  
He glances up at Harry automatically, his voice so quiet and unsure, a tone Zayn’s only heard a handful of times and it never means something good.

  
“Your hair’s a wreck,” Zayn hears himself say, and it sounds ridiculous to him because his heart is pounding and his head hurts and his body is suddenly very sore, and Harry is different, but then Harry smiles and Zayn feels just a little bit relieved because that smile, at least, is the exact same.

  
“My hair’s a wreck?” Harry echoes in amused disbelief. “You’re the one who was in the car accident. Your hair’s a wreck.”

  
And Harry’s playful tone never falters, but Zayn’s heart stops, because – what? A car accident?

  
“What?” he echoes his thoughts and Harry’s smile slips as he registers Zayn’s confusion because Zayn wasn’t in a car accident. Last he remembers, he was in Liam’s room waiting for Liam and he must have fallen asleep because Harry’s voice woke him up.

  
But then Harry’s asking, “Don’t you remember?” and Zayn’s actually focusing on his surroundings and – oh. He’s not in Liam’s room. Hell, he’s not even in the hotel he remembers. This room is inarguably a hospital room, complete with machines and he’s in a hospital bed, chest covered in one of those ridiculous gowns and Zayn’s so confused and then it gets worse, because he catches sight of his own arms and just like with Harry, he finds new ink. With shaking fingertips he presses against his cold skin and rubs, but he already knows the ink isn’t going to rub off. Sure enough, his fingers come away clean and panic slams into Zayn like a wall.

  
“Harry,” he yelps, voice coming out high and strangled as he stares at Harry in fear, fear echoed in Harry’s suddenly pale face. “Harry, what the fuck?”

  
But Harry doesn’t get a chance to answer because a doctor sweeps into the room at that moment and Zayn barely glances at her before focusing on the girl behind her. He knows without really knowing that this was the girl whom Harry was talking to earlier, and she isn’t with management, definitely not, because Zayn knows her.

  
“Perrie?” his voice is disbelieving because why the hell would Perrie be here?

  
“Zayn, thank God,” she breathes out, relief relaxing her shoulders.

  
But Zayn can’t relax because Perrie doesn’t look the same either, not at all, and it hasn’t been that long since he’s seen her, at that stupid meeting with management. But no, he stops that thought because he doesn’t want to think about that right now, not with a very different Perrie staring at him in relief. “What are you doing here?” he blurts.

  
Perrie frowns at him. “Christ, Zayn, I know we broke up, but do you really think I wouldn’t come when I’ve heard that you’re in the hospital?”

  
And Zayn, he can’t even think because he and Perrie broke up? They never started dating! He remembers management suggesting (demanding) the ruse in that damned meeting, with Perrie fidgeting on the other side of that huge and fucking unnecessary table, looking just as uncomfortable with the idea of fake dating Zayn, but he had hardly been able to look at her because Liam had been beside him, and Liam, God, he had just went stock still. Zayn had been saying no before he had even thought about it, the first time he had said no to management, but Liam’s reaction was just so strong that he couldn’t help it. And that was the last time he had seen Perrie, months ago, though she was never far from his thoughts these days, because management was still hounding Zayn about dating her in public, and actually, that was the reason Zayn had been waiting in Liam’s room last night, so they could talk about it, just the two of them.

  
“We aren’t dating,” Zayn says blankly, tongue tripping over the strange words, because he only associates the word dating with Liam, has ever since almost a year ago now when they finally, finally, got together, and it was everything Zayn had ever wanted.

  
Perrie rolls her eyes, so oblivious, but Harry’s beginning to look truly frightened, and it does nothing to calm Zayn down.

  
“Not anymore, but God, Zayn, I’m still your emergency contact and the public doesn’t know yet. Of course I’m here,” and Perrie sounds almost hurt.

  
But Zayn’s shaking his head because no, this is wrong. This is so wrong. “No, we aren’t – we were never – I’m dating Liam!”

  
Zayn didn’t mean to yell that last part, but his stomach is twisting into a knot, a deep feeling of wrongness surrounding him, and he feels like he’s choking on the empty air, the pressure of something – something else, something wrong, something he doesn’t know – pressing down on him.

  
He glares out at the room, so defensive suddenly, because Perrie’s face drains of color and Harry’s gaping at him and the doctor looks a bit uncomfortable but also puzzled.

  
And Zayn, Zayn just feels lost because none of this makes sense. Harry doesn’t look like himself and Perrie shouldn’t even be here and the last thing Zayn remembers is waiting for Liam on Liam’s bed and _none of this is right._

  
So he does what he always does when he feels lost and alone and scared. He asks for Liam.

  
And somehow the silence gets worse because now Perrie looks scared as well and Harry’s frozen and the doctor looks like something’s occurred to her, but it isn’t good.

  
“Where’s Liam?” Zayn asks again, and his voice breaks because suddenly he’s thinking about how Harry says he’s been in a car accident and what if Liam – but no, he can’t even finish that thought because no. The world wouldn’t survive. It wouldn’t. “Where’s Liam? Harry, where is he?” and Zayn’s voice is swiftly becoming hysterical but he can’t even hope to control that because Liam isn’t here, with him, and that’s _wrong_.

  
“Zayn,” the doctor says slowly, approaching with both hands raised as she speaks in a tone that somehow manages to cut right through Zayn’s hysteria. “Liam isn’t dead.”

  
And that’s such a huge fucking relief that Zayn slumps like every bone in his body is gone, and tears prick his eyes from a new rush of pain but mostly from the knowledge that Liam is alive.

  
But then the doctor’s speaking again, and Zayn finds himself listening because something still isn’t quite right. “Zayn, what day is it?”

  
Zayn shoots her a horrified look because what the hell kind of question is that? But he answers because he’s still so relieved that Liam is alive and because she’s a doctor and his mother raised him to respect that. “It’s April fifth.”

  
Harry gasps and Perrie flinches, but the doctor doesn’t look surprised. “What year?”

  
And the feeling of absolute panic is back, rising like a wave, choking Zayn, and he barely manages to say, “2012.”

  
The doctor frowns, but its Harry’s face that Zayn focuses on because Harry, he just looks horrified, so completely horrified, and Zayn can’t breathe.

  
“It’s April fifth, 2012,” Zayn repeats, his voice inching higher again because he’s suddenly not sure, though he should be. He always knows the date now, has to because of what they do, and it’s definitely April fifth.

  
But the doctor is shaking her head, looking a bit sorry for him, and Perrie’s just frozen, but again its Harry that Zayn focuses on, and it’s somehow worse. Harry’s shaking his head, green eyes filling fast with tears, and then he breathes out, “Oh, fuck,” and Zayn, just, stops thinking clearly.

* * *

 

The doctor is still speaking, has been for close to an hour now, but Zayn only catches a few words, his mind a chaotic mess reminiscent of hurricanes and tornadoes and thunderstorms, so loud in the silence because he isn’t thinking in sentences; no, just fragments of thoughts and memories and the knowledge that _now he is missing memories._

  
That’s the part he can’t accept, the part his mind shies away from, because he doesn’t feel incomplete; he doesn’t feel like there are holes in his mind, places where something used to be. And they aren’t just holes, are they? No, Zayn’s missing two entire years of his life, so it isn’t just holes in his brain; it’s a fucking crater. He’s got the Grand fucking Canyon ripped through the center of his memory, except it’s like somebody filled it with sand, because he can’t _feel_ it. He can’t feel that gaping hole, but he knows that if he stepped forward, that sand would shift, and he would be left standing over nothing.

  
“Zayn,” the doctor calls his name yet again, and she says it almost with familiarity at this point, and Zayn’s almost hysterical wondering if perhaps he’s supposed to know her too, because he’s supposed to know Perrie behind her, isn’t he? That’s what she said, Perrie; she said they’d been dating, that he’d agreed to the stupid sham management had wanted, but Zayn doesn’t remember that at all. He doesn’t remember her.

  
“Zayn,” the doctor’s voice cracks across the static in his mind this time, and his head snaps up to her automatically. He winces slightly, head still sore, and the doctor looks worried. “I know this is a lot to handle right now, but you need to listen, or it will be worse.”

  
“Worse?” Zayn chokes out on a laugh that he knows sound unhinged, because after it echoes around the room, Harry’s suddenly by his side, clinging to his hand. And Harry, Christ, he’s still impossibly different, but his expression is the same. Harry’s always had this ability to break Zayn’s heart with his face, so lost, those green eyes wide with fear and sorrow and anxiety. “Sorry,” he mutters, squeezing Harry’s hand back because he is. Fuck, Zayn’s so sorry.

  
“Don’t be,” Harry whispers, voice so much deeper than Zayn expects it to be still. “Just listen to her, ya?”

  
Zayn nods and focuses back on the doctor, flexing his free hand where it lies against the white of the hospital sheet. His tattoos stand out vividly, and he doesn’t know half of them.

  
“Alright, what you have is called Retrograde Amnesia, Zayn, which basically just means that you’ve forgotten some recent events.”

  
“Recent?” he can’t help but echo, because damn it, two years is not recent. Two years is a lifetime.

  
The doctor grimaces. “Yes, I know two years seems like an eternity, but in the case of memory, it is considered recent. We’ll have to do some tests obviously, MRIs, CAT scans, really figure out if all those memories are gone by asking you questions, but for now, I can answer a few questions for you.”

  
Zayn blinks at her, his mind pure chaos once more, because he’s always hated hospitals. Who hasn’t? He has some early memories of waiting in the A &E, multiple times, usually with Ant or Danny by his side because they were reckless when they were young, and Zayn even hated that. But hospitals, it’s like being trapped. And now this doctor is saying that he’ll have to stick around for tests, and he shouldn’t be surprised. His fucking memory is missing, he should have realized they would keep him here, but he didn’t because he doesn’t feel like anything’s wrong.

  
And that’s the real problem, isn’t it? Zayn still doesn’t feel like there’s anything wrong with him. Sure, his body aches from the apparent car crash they had been in (him and Louis apparently; Harry had told him earlier) but he feels like himself. His mind is telling him he’s 19, that it’s April, that he just fell asleep. It’s so fucking disorientating, but he can’t fix it because he just doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything.

  
“Will I get my memory back?” the question is out before he can even consider the damage if the answer isn’t what he wants it to be. He’s clinging to what he can learn, what he can know, and he needs to know if he’ll be able to fix it, fill in those gaps that don’t feel empty.

  
Harry lets out a pained whine, his hand convulsing in Zayn’s grasp, and he isn’t surprised when Perrie slips out the door, her blue eyes shiny with unshed tears, and Zayn wishes he could feel something, anything, about that but he can’t. He’s too focused on the doctor.

  
“Yes,” the doctor nods. “Most people see the return of their memories within a short period of time, but it won’t be like you’re hoping. It won’t all come back to you at once. In fact, it’ll be random, pieces of memory coming back to you when you least expect it. Sometimes, you won’t even realize it is a memory. Most patients report not knowing exactly when they have all their memories back, or even if they do have them all back. It’s a tricky subject, Zayn, no way to really test it. But yes, you should get most of your memories back within the next couple of months.”

  
He tries to let it calm him, the tidal wave of emotion she slowly poured over him, but he can’t because all he can hear are the unspoken what-ifs. What if he doesn’t get his memory back? What if it doesn’t all come back? What if he never knows for sure? What if he misses something important? What if he doesn’t realize he’s remembering?

  
“Zayn,” she moves forward to rest a calming hand on his knee, something Zayn’s seen doctors do on shows, but he’s never been at the receiving end of it. He stares at her pale hand, chilly in the hospital air, and his head goes silent, but not calm. Never calm. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but I need you to focus on the positives in this situation. If you’re under emotional strain, it will only worsen the condition okay? We scanned your brain when you came in, and we can’t see any structural damage. Your condition isn’t the result of physical damage, but emotional.”

  
“So what? My brain is forgetting on purpose?”

  
She frowns, but nods her head regardless. “If that’s how you want to look at it then yes. It isn’t as uncommon as you think. Humans are only meant to handle so much.”

  
“Right.”

  
Harry squeezes Zayn’s hand again, and he squeezes back automatically because he honestly can’t figure out what else to do. The doctor’s words are swirling around in his head, bumping up against the knowledge that he has holes in his mind that he can’t feel, and he tries to focus on the good things she’s been telling him, the fact that it shouldn’t be permanent and that it isn’t uncommon, that it isn’t structural but psychological, that if he can calm down it will help. He honestly tries to focus on all of that, but the problem is that Zayn has always been pessimistic, more a glass half-empty kind of guy, and he’s always let Liam persuade him that a situation isn’t as bad as he thinks.

  
_Liam_ , it’s like a cool breeze across his mind, and Zayn closes his eyes to bask in it; the one name able to do what the doctor’s explanations hadn’t been able to – calm him down. Because that’s what Liam has always been to Zayn, a calming force, his anchor, what grounds him to this world, his world and his life. Even before they got together, Liam always knew just what to do or say to quiet the storm in Zayn’s mind, the balancing factor he never really knew he needed until he had it, and suddenly Zayn needs him like a physical thing.

  
“Where’s Liam?” it comes out in a whisper, his eyes still closed, because he can’t understand why Liam isn’t here right now. The doctor’s reassurances from earlier, that Liam’s okay, not hurt, not dead, ring in his ears, and it is reassuring, but it’s also unsettling because Zayn knows he wouldn’t be anywhere but at Liam’s side unless something was stopping him if their roles were reversed.

  
Harry clears his throat, fingers tugging slightly, and Zayn blinks open his eyes to see Harry taking a step away from him, face suddenly uncomfortable. Zayn studies him, unsure again, because Harry’s always been an open book, wearing his heart on his sleeve and his thoughts in his eyes (just like Liam), and he looks... he looks uncertain too right now.  
“He’s with Louis,” Harry answers, voice just slightly off.

  
And Zayn nods like that makes sense, because it sort of does. Louis was in the accident with him after all, and even though Harry said Louis isn’t hurt much worse than Zayn, he’s still hurt, still shaken. Zayn knows that of course somebody would be with Louis, because this band is a family, brothers and more, and they’d never leave someone on their own, but he can’t help but think that Niall could be with Louis, or even Harry (despite how unstable that bond always is). He tries not to be selfish with Liam because they were a band first, always first, and he and Liam try to keep their relationship from changing how they interact with the boys, but in just this one case, he thinks it would have been fine to be biased. He thinks that he would have stayed with Liam no matter what, because he can’t imagine being anywhere else.

  
“Is Louis awake?” Zayn asks, trying to rip his mind away from that track of thought because it’s a dark path that leads to questions he doesn’t want to ask, questions he knows the answers to deep down, but his uncertainty always gets the best of him.

  
“Of course,” Harry answers, running a hand through his too-long curls with something like frustration. “Came in awake, already ranting and raving and shouting, making a scene, ya?”

  
Zayn doesn’t even try to stifle the fond smile on his lips because he can picture that, Louis slightly banged up but raving, especially if they tried to put him in a hospital gown like Zayn’s. “Did you see him?”

  
Harry flinches, just slightly, and Zayn thinks, _oh_. Because he is honestly surprised now. Supposedly its two years in the future, but Harry’s expression could be torn out of any month of the past year and it would fit. Harry’s face reads of sorrow and exasperation and anger and something like guilt, and Zayn knows it oh so well because it’s always Harry’s expression regarding Louis, ever since Eleanor came into the picture, and Zayn can’t believe that it’s the same. He can’t believe that Louis and Harry haven’t moved past this point in two years, but it’s clear that they haven’t, and Zayn can only think that something truly terrible must have happened to keep them at such a standstill, and suddenly Harry’s presence here and Liam’s with Louis makes more sense. He and Liam always try to play buffer between the two manic boys who go from basically in love to hating each other every week, it seems.

  
“He’s fine,” Harry murmurs, more like he’s reassuring himself than Zayn, and Zayn lets it go because he can’t stand hurting Harry; it’s like hurting Niall or a puppy. “Liam’s been with him the whole time, and Niall bounces back and forth, though I think he went to the cafeteria for a bit.”

  
Zayn grins, can’t help it, because that sounds damn familiar too, and it makes two years seem like not such a long time. Like maybe it’s a gap he can bridge. But he still itches to see Liam, burning with the need like an addict, and Liam thinks that the only thing Zayn is addicted to is nicotine, but that’s not true. Zayn’s been addicted to Liam for nearly as long.

  
“Will you get him?” he asks Harry in a small voice, unaccountably nervous suddenly, his eyes springing to the doctor still standing unobtrusively in the corner. She’s been prone to a lot of information about them, Zayn suddenly realizes, probably too much. Management’s going to have to get her to sign a deal or something, because his need for Liam is so far past platonic, and the public can’t know that.

  
“Umm,” Harry hesitates, and Zayn’s eyes shoot back to him, that same uncertainty coming back because Harry looks like he doesn’t want to get Liam. “Zayn, maybe-”

  
“Please, Harry,” Zayn cuts across him, unable to bear that hesitant note in Harry’s voice, hands going shaky with what could have caused it, and he feels unsteady on his feet again, like the entire world has shifted around him. He just needs Liam, needs him to reassure Zayn that the world is still the same, just a bit older, because Liam will always be his connection to reality. If Zayn’s sure of anything, it’s always Liam.

  
And maybe Harry can see Zayn’s desperation, because he’s nodding suddenly, brow furrowed like he’s thinking ahead.

  
“I’ll take you to your friend’s room,” the doctor offers easily. Turning to Zayn before she exits, she smiles slightly, “Its late tonight, but they’re allowed to stay. Try to get some sleep. We’ll be monitoring you all night because of the head trauma, and we’ll do some tests tomorrow.”

  
Zayn nods, like it’s really up to him, and then she’s gone, Harry shuffling out behind her as he tears at his lip with uncertain teeth.

  
Once the door shuts, Zayn slumps back, his mind bouncing from thought to thought. He can’t get Harry’s worried expression out of his head, because it’s so out of place. Why wouldn’t Harry want to get Liam? Because Perrie’s here? If Zayn’s been pretending to date her, if he actually got Liam to agree to that plan, then he knows that Liam probably avoids her. He would, in Liam’s place. But Perrie’s gone, slipped out the door, and Zayn isn’t really sure she’s going to come back soon. Her face had gone so pale, and she’d been about to cry, which makes little sense to Zayn since they were hardly more than strangers when management suggested the fake-dating thing. But again, he’s reminded that that was two years ago, and a lot can change in two years. He and Perrie could be friends now, and Liam... well, Zayn’s not sure what Liam will be like exactly, but he’ll still be Liam. He’ll always be Liam.

  
And Zayn remembers the first time he met Liam, his lips quirking into a slight smile as he’s suddenly grateful that he didn’t lose that memory.

  
They had met in a McDonald’s during the early stages of the competition, Zayn approaching the slightly younger boy to offer him a wan smile and sincere compliment for his voice. Liam had blushed, of course, and they had just fallen into conversation, so easily. Zayn had never made a friend that easily before, never, and he would find out later that Liam had never either. An instant connection, they used to tease, before they realized that it went a bit deeper than that. Even back then though, Liam was the same. So oddly tentative but breathtakingly sincere, nice and sweet and earnest, loyal to a fault, and so damned loving. Liam is just plain good, down to his core, his every heart beat echoing with good intentions, and Zayn’s never really understood how he can stand it, being great all the time, but he’s learned to just count himself lucky that someone like Liam loves him.

  
Liam with his warm brown eyes, and cute birthmark that he still sometimes gets self-conscious about despite how often Zayn comments on how much he loves it. His changing hairstyles that never fail to make Zayn smile because he thinks Liam looks great no matter what, and how he’s grown into his own style now. And suddenly Zayn’s so glad that he didn’t lose these memories, all of these early memories of Liam, because he doesn’t think he could stand it if he had. Even though he’s missing two more years with Liam, Zayn’s glad he remembers how he and Liam got together, how they stayed together, how they grew together.

  
He doesn’t remember closing his eyes, but they dart open when Zayn hears the door creaking open, and his heart, which had calmed at all his thoughts of Liam, suddenly races again. His head’s buzzing because Liam’s going to be different, two years of differences that Zayn doesn’t know, and Zayn thinks it shouldn’t be like meeting a stranger, but it kind of feels like it.

  
And then he sees Liam’s face, and he just _breathes_ again, because _oh, it’s Liam_. And ya, he can see some differences, like the hair and maybe a new tattoo on his arm, and he’s, shit, wider and bigger somehow, but he’s still Liam. He stills walks like he’s just a bit unsure of himself, those wide shoulders hunched in the slightest like he’s afraid of taking up too much space, and Zayn always pokes him in the back when he slouches, teasing but also honest because he doesn’t understand how Liam can shrink into himself when he should be so proud. His birthmark still decorates his neck, but it throws Zayn off for a minute because he could swear he bit a mark into it just yesterday before he remembers that right, his yesterday was actually two years ago. But that somehow doesn’t seem as bad with Liam here now, because his brown eyes are exactly the same, and his hands are loose and relaxed, and Zayn just wants to bury his nose in Liam’s chest and inhale the scent that he _knows_ will be the same, because Liam’s obsessed with his detergent.

  
“Liam,” it’s just an exhale, hardly any sound to it at all, but Zayn knows that Liam will be able to hear everything in that one word, just his name. All Zayn’s relief and his previous worry and his pain, the way he just _aches_ right now, rushed out in that breath of air, because Liam has always made him release everything, taking it on like it was a gift to be able to take Zayn’s burdens. And Zayn fully expects Liam to smile, because he always does when he sees Zayn’s face, and then rush to Zayn’s bedside, because every time they’re forced to separate, Liam acts like it’s been years, even if it’s only been hours.

  
But he doesn’t.

  
Liam freezes, one hand still wrapped around the door handle, the other frozen halfway to his neck, no doubt to rub at the back of it, and that’s the detail Zayn focuses on. Liam only rubs at the back of his neck when he’s flustered, thrown off by nerves or worry, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. It’s a gesture that Zayn’s familiar with, usually tangles his fingers in Liam’s to make him stop as he tries to calm Liam down the way Liam does for him, but it isn’t one he expected right now.

  
“Liam,” he repeats, his voice trembling the slightest bit because he can’t help it, and Liam pales a bit, eyes wide with surprise like he didn’t expect Zayn to call for him. “Christ, Liam, come here,” Zayn begs, thrown off by Liam’s reaction, or lack of really, and the earlier desperation to just cling to him rages back, an itch in Zayn’s veins.

  
“I – Zayn,” Liam fumbles his words, finally releasing the door handle to step inside, and Zayn almost breathes a sigh of relief but then Liam’s stopping, still so far away, hardly even in the room at all. He looks confused, lost, like he doesn’t know Zayn, and Zayn can’t breathe, his throat constricting, because that’s supposed to be _his_ reaction not Liam’s. But then Liam’s speaking again, and it makes sense, because Liam says, “What happened?”

  
And Zayn sinks into the bed, hands that were reaching for Liam dropping to his sheets. He drops his eyes too, hands twisting the top of the sheet until it’s hopelessly wrinkled because shit. He didn’t think about this, about the way he might have to explain that he’s lost his memory. Zayn honestly thought that Harry would tell Liam, but it’s clear that Harry didn’t, because Liam’s just lost right now. It’s so obvious in Liam’s wide brown eyes that he has no idea that Zayn’s lost two years of his life, and now Zayn’s going to have to tell him.

  
So he heaves in a breath that stings like it’s freezing in this room and blurts, “I thought it was April fifth when I woke up.” He winces immediately because that’s definitely not what he had planned to say and it makes no sense. He peaks up shyly from under his eyelashes, teeth automatically seeking out his bottom lip, and sure enough, Liam looks even more confused.

  
His eyes are crinkling, but not like they do when he smiles. No, the skin’s pulled tight with worry and something that looks a lot like hurt. “It’s November,” Liam says slowly, because he doesn’t get it.

  
Zayn cracks a small smile because that’s so Liam, “Ya I know that now, but I, um, I can’t really remember.”

  
And Liam’s eyes widen, and he takes an unconscious step forward. “Wait, you can’t remember? Zayn, you can’t remember these last months?”

  
He flinches hard, in response, because Liam sounds so alarmed, and it’s actually so much worse than he knows, and Zayn went about this the wrong way. Liam’s already so prone to freaking out, and Zayn is not helping at all, but he just can’t seem to stop himself. Before he knows it, he’s whispering, “Actually, I think it’s April fifth –”

  
“It’s –”

  
“– 2012,” Zayn finishes, and Liam’s mouth snaps shut so hard it makes Zayn wince in pain. Liam’s silent, completely silent, frozen like he was before but almost worse, because Zayn can’t even tell if he’s _breathing_ right now. Zayn can feel panic rising in his own chest, and he knows that he should calm himself down, explain this rationally because clearly Liam isn’t prepared to handle it, but Zayn’s always been complete shit at controlling himself when he’s freaking out. So he finds himself babbling.

  
“Ya, I mean, I woke up and Harry was here and the doctor asked me what day it was, and I said April fifth, 2012. Because that’s the last thing I remember, right? I remember it being April fourth, and it was so late, and I went to your room to talk to you, but I thought I must have fallen asleep. Except then the doctor told me it wasn’t April, that it wasn’t even 2012, and well I freaked out for a bit, because shit I don’t even remember the accident, so I couldn’t figure out why I was in a hospital. And then –”

  
“You think its 2012?” Liam whispers in a voice that cracks like glass underfoot, shocking and unexpected enough to shut Zayn up immediately.

  
Zayn drops his eyes again, almost tearing at his sheet now because he’s so fucking nervous suddenly. “Ya,” he mumbles. “I mean, obviously, I know it’s not now, because the doctor told me, and well, everyone’s a bit different, ya? But my mind thinks its 2012 still. Like I can’t...” and he trails off, choking on the words because shit, he hasn’t said it out lout yet, has he? Zayn hasn’t said that he’s lost two years of his memory, two years of himself, two years of _Liam_.

  
“You can’t remember.”

  
Zayn’s head snaps up because Liam’s voice is absolutely wrecked, destroyed, barely a whisper at all, and he doesn’t understand, but then he looks at Liam’s face, and “Shit,” he gasps, because Liam’s shaking. His body is trembling like he can’t stand, and his hands are crumpled into fists, and his face is almost pure white, like somebody drained all the color away when Zayn wasn’t looking, but it’s his eyes that are the worst. Liam’s eyes are wide open and terrified, just bloody terrified. The dark brown is almost entirely obscured behind his dark pupil, and he’s not even blinking, like he truly is frozen.

  
“Shit, Li,” Zayn gasps again, his own body freezing because he’s never seen Liam like this before, never. It’s like Liam’s forgotten how to function, and Zayn doesn’t get it, because Liam doesn’t freak out. He doesn’t. He’s the calm in the storm that the other boys all create, the eye of the hurricane or whatever other bullshit metaphor. Liam never breaks like this, not like Zayn does, never. So seeing this is bloody terrifying for Zayn, and he’s not really sure what to do, so he starts blurting things out again.

  
“But the doctor said that it’s just temporary,” he nearly shouts, and Liam flinches but Zayn barrels on, “like, I’m going to remember eventually. The memories will come back in, like, bits and pieces, I guess. And sometimes, I might not even realize that I’m remembering, but it should all come back. I’ll remember –”

  
“What’s the last thing you remember?” and Liam’s still whispering, like every word is being dragged out of his chest by Zayn’s greedy fingers, and he can almost see the blood under his nails, like he’d ever hurt Liam.

  
“I...” But Zayn stumbles over what he was about to say, because he doesn’t want to suddenly. The topic of Perrie was so damned touchy, last he remembers, and he doesn’t want to poke at it with Liam looking at him like that, but it’s something else holding him back too. It’s the way that Liam’s still so far away from him, so cold, his body like ice. It’s the way he can’t seem to look away from Zayn even though his body is trembling like he wants to run. It’s the way Zayn thought the world would make sense once he saw Liam again, but now it feels like it’s spinning faster than ever, and _two whole years, Li_ , he wants to shout. _I’ve forgotten two whole years_.

  
But he doesn’t. No, he answers, because it’s Liam, who would do anything for Zayn. So he answers, “I came to your room, but you weren’t there, so I sat down on your bed. I remember I was biting my nails, even though you hate it, because I was so bloody nervous. We’d been fighting, and I just wanted to talk to you, just you, about well –”

  
“About Perrie,” Liam sighs out, his voice clear for the first time, but his eyes are closing, wrinkling like he’s in pain, and Zayn winces. Perrie was more than just a touchy subject, it was like a permanent bruise in the center of Liam’s chest that management kept punching and Zayn couldn’t help himself from poking. She was the cause of every argument for two months straight, the reason for the rough sex, the separate rooms on occasion, the deadly silences that grew between them. Perrie was the first honest fight Liam and Zayn had ever had, because neither of them had expected it, at all, and it played with the worst qualities of both of them. It played on Zayn’s flirty nature and Liam’s insecurities about their relationship, and the way fame wasn’t meant to twist them, but it was. It had twisted them.

  
Zayn had gone to Liam that night feeling the worst he ever had. It was the first time he had even questioned if he and Liam could work it out. It was the worst moment of his life, actually, and he can see that so clearly now, but he remembers what feels like yesterday and how muddled his mind was.

  
“Ya,” Zayn mumbles after the silence continues for a beat too long, glancing down at his hands and then back up quickly, desperate to escape his own memories on the subject. “But, I mean, clearly we worked that out, ya? Obviously, you agreed, because Perrie was here earlier and –”

  
“Perrie was here?” Liam demands, skittering back like he’s expecting a punch, and Zayn frowns.

  
“Ya, she was here when I woke up, but then –”

  
And Liam shakes his head, like he’s disgusted with himself, the same move Zayn’s always hated, because it’s like Liam is ashamed of himself. It twists Zayn’s gut, especially now, because he doesn’t understand it. Liam’s reactions are out of context, out of character, and Zayn just doesn’t get what he’s so obviously missing. “Of course she was here. She’s always fucking here,” his voice is angry, so angry, and rough with waves of emotion Zayn can’t even begin to understand.

  
Zayn flinches at the curse word, because, shit, Liam doesn’t swear, not unless he is pissed. “Li, I don’t understand. You agreed to let me pretend to date her, right? So of course, she was here; she’s got to keep up appearances, and it’s going to be on the news that I was in an accident. I’m sorry I mentioned her, but she’s gone now, so can’t we –”

  
But Liam’s shaking his head, looking two seconds away from crying, his eyes so watery all of a sudden, and Zayn, he can’t stand it. He never could handle other people crying, but especially not Liam. Liam who only deserves the best in life, only deserves to smile, only deserves to laugh. And somehow, Zayn is hurting him, and he doesn’t know how he’s doing it, so he can’t even stop.

  
“Christ, Zayn,” Liam mumbles. “She’s not gone. She’s never gone. She’ll always be around now, ya? Because that’s what you agreed to. Hell that’s what you decided, except apparently now you don’t remember that. You don’t remember any of that. Shit, you don’t remember _anything_.”

  
And okay, that hurts, and Zayn can’t keep it out of his voice, never could. “What are you talking about? What did I decide? I never would have decided anything without you –”

  
Liam laughs, loud and harsh and grating, and so different from his actual laugh that Zayn can hardly recognize it. It’s like Liam’s ribs rubbed together and the sound erupted out of his hollow mouth, taking pieces of him with it, pressing air from lungs. It’s an ugliness that doesn’t belong to Liam, not Liam. “You never would have decided to get engaged without me? Really? Jesus, you don’t even know, Zayn –”

  
But Zayn’s already shaking his head, because no, that’s not right. Zayn isn’t engaged. He’d never... not when – no. That’s wrong. So wrong. He’s shaking his head slowly, the words bouncing around in his head so painfully, and he winces, unable to help it. He thought the world was spinning too fast earlier, but now it doesn’t feel like it’s spinning at all. It feels like the world doesn’t even exist because Liam, he’s pissed and confused and unhinged, and Zayn knows he’s all of those things too, but he has a reason, and he doesn’t know why Liam’s acting this way. And _engaged_? No, he can’t be engaged to Perrie, because that’s what Liam’s suggesting, and Zayn would never do that to Liam, never. But the words _two years_ are echoing like doubt in his lungs, and Zayn doesn’t know, does he? He doesn’t fucking remember.

  
And apparently, it’s evident on his face that he has no idea what’s happening because Liam sobers up, and now he looks tired, defeated, and a bit remorseful as he stares at Zayn’s curled up form on the bed. “You didn’t know,” he guesses, and yes, that’s definitely regret in his eyes now. “You didn’t know you’re engaged to her.”

  
Zayn shakes his head, because no he didn’t know, but also because no that’s not right. None of this is right. Not from the moment he woke up here, confused and so alone, and Liam wasn’t here. He wasn’t here, and Zayn suddenly burns to know why. He needs to know exactly why Liam wasn’t by his side.

  
“Why weren’t you here?” Zayn demands, and shit, he didn’t mean to sound so accusing, but it’s there in his tone: betrayal. “Even if Perrie and I are engaged for the publicity or whatever, why weren’t you here, Li? I woke up and you weren’t here, and I just don’t get it, because you should have been. I never would have...” Zayn shakes his head, biting on his lip hard because he can suddenly feel tears in his own eyes. “I just – why weren’t you here?”

  
He looks up, glaring at Liam, and he’s so angry suddenly, all the hurt from earlier flooding back, and Liam just looks aghast, like he can’t figure out how to answer Zayn’s anger, and that’s just not fucking fair. Liam should have answers. Liam doesn’t have two years of memories missing from his head. He knows why he wasn’t here when Zayn woke up; he knows, while Zayn didn’t even know that he was pretending to be engaged.

  
“I would have never left you alone,” Zayn whispers, a tear dripping from his eyes, and he scrubs at it harshly because fuck, he hates crying. “I would have been there when you woke up. Why weren’t you here for me? I would never leave you –”

  
And Liam looks hopeless when he cuts Zayn off this time, but he still cuts him off, like he can’t help it. “But you did, Zayn. You did.”

  
“I did what?” Zayn snaps, so lost and confused and hurt, and ya, pissed now.

  
Liam shrugs like it doesn’t matter, but he folds his arms tight across his chest, forming a physical barrier around his heart, like he’s keeping it safe and keeping himself together. He unfroze a long time ago in this conversation, but now it’s like he can’t stop moving, like he’s two seconds from running out the door. Liam’s never run away from Zayn before, but now it feels like he wants to, and Zayn doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand it, right until the words slip out of Liam’s mouth.

  
“We broke up.”

  
“What?” his ears are ringing, and Zayn didn’t hear that. He didn’t – not those words.

  
But Liam’s saying them again, voice cold as a gravestone in winter, “We broke up.”

  
“No.” It’s instantaneous, his denial. The word is out and crowding into the room before Zayn even processes the sentence, because no. There’s no way. Liam is vital to Zayn, _vital_ , like his heart or his lungs. He’d become vital before Zayn had even given his heart to Liam, before it’d even been an option. Liam is so much a part of Zayn that he can’t separate how he is alone, without Liam, and Liam without him. Yin and yang, the boys like to joke in reference to Zayn’s small tattoo, gotten so long ago, and Zayn always thinks that it is sort of fitting, ya? Because Zayn is the darker one, and Liam is the lighter one, and they do balance each other out.

  
So no. No, they aren’t broken up. No. Because Zayn can’t survive without Liam, not anymore, not for over a year now. Even in his darkest moments, when he had let himself consider the idea of them breaking up someday, Zayn had never imagined that Liam would be cut from his life. It was always a temporary break up in even his darkest imaginings. Liam is a forever in Zayn’s life, an always, an infinity.

  
But Liam’s still shaking his head, his face so carefully blank, like Zayn taught him when the band first blew up because Liam could never hide his emotions during interviews, and he had to. And Christ, it’s ironic that the mask Zayn had constructed for Liam is coming out now, shielding Liam from Zayn, but he can’t laugh at the irony, not this time.

  
“Zayn we broke up. We haven’t been together in over a year now. You – I moved out last September.”

  
Zayn’s shaking his head, pressing his spine back into the wall, trying to move physically away from the words that are hurting him. His mind latches onto how the doctor stressed that his memory loss was psychological not physical, and suddenly it makes so much sense to Zayn. Of course his mind tried to shield him from this; of course he forgot the last two years. And this pain, this brand new, searing pain that he’s never felt before, it’s physical. He doesn’t care what anyone says; this pain is real, real and fuck, so painful.

  
He doesn’t realize he’s literally gasping for air until the door slams behind Liam’s back (running, Zayn thinks hysterically, running away from him like Zayn had thought Liam would) and the gasping sound of dragging air remains. Then he realizes it’s him; he’s the one who can’t get any air into his lungs, and it makes sense in a twisted way. After all, Liam has always been vital and Zayn had thought it was like his heart, but no. Liam is like his lungs, allowing him to just breathe, to survive, to inhale, but now he’s gone. Christ, Liam’s gone.

  
Gone, gone, gone, gone, gone.

  
The door flings open and the doctor’s back, Harry behind her with his wide green eyes that have stayed the same, even though two years have passed. Two years where Liam wasn’t with Zayn, where ZaynandLiam went back to just Zayn and Liam and Louis and Harry and Niall. Liam is gone.

  
Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone.

  
The word echoes in the gaps in his mind that he didn’t used to feel but oh, he feels them now. He was right when he said it was like having sand in the crevices, something that looks real but doesn’t stand up to pressure, because it’s gone now. The air is empty, the spots gaping where Zayn is supposed to remember this. This fucking catastrophe that feels like a giant crevice starting in the center of his chest.

  
Gone.  
Gone.  
Gone.  
Gone.  
Gone.

  
Liam is gone, out of Zayn’s life in the way he really wants him, but not gone completely, no, because they’re still One Direction. They’re obviously still One Direction, and so Zayn didn’t even get a clean break then did he? Liam’s there, but he’s gone, just like Zayn’s here right now, but gone.

  
Here, where the doctor is trying to talk to him, her face calm but her eyes darting everywhere, betraying her fear, and Harry’s behind her literally yanking on his hair, and his mouth’s open like he’s yelling but Zayn doesn’t hear either of them. Here, where the doctor’s pressing the call button for the nurses, and Harry’s crying, and Zayn can’t even hear himself gasping anymore. Here, where Zayn isn’t because now Zayn is gone.

  
Gone.  
Gone.  
Gone.

* * *

 

His mind tries to drag him back a few times, but Zayn fights it every single time. He’s aware, on some small level, of every few hours when a nurse wakes him, prodding him into an upright position to check him. He’s also aware that he responds to their questions like a good little boy before tumbling back into thin sheets, burying his nose in a pillow that smells like nothing. Nothing is what he craves, because if he tries to focus on something, he always thinks that one, horrible thing: he and Liam are over.

  
‘We broke up over a year ago,’ echoes through the corridors of his hollowed out mind if he lets it, so Zayn doesn’t let it. He gives himself over to the waves of sleep washing through his bloodstream, and even though he knows it’s forced, a drug-induced semi-coma, he still goes willingly every time, because at least then he doesn’t have to think. He doesn’t have to remember.

* * *

 

Zayn wakes up sticky with imposed sleep, brief flashes of near crashes with consciousness from earlier emboss themselves on his eyelids from one blink to the next, and he knows, he just knows, that he willingly went under. Sure the doctor called nurses in to knock him out, but Zayn went willingly into that oblivion, because even now, he wants to go back. Even now, when he’s just barely tiptoeing into wakefulness, he can remember every detail between the last time he woke up and now so clearly, and it’s like a fucking joke, because he’s forgotten two years, but he remembers every millisecond of his conversation with Liam.

  
He shuts his eyes again and forces himself to breathe, exercises from two years ago so fresh in his mind. They were meant to help him sing, but Zayn needs them now just to exist, because he feels shattered.

  
The irony isn’t lost on him, how he suddenly wants to forget the last twelve or so hours. What memory loss patient wants to forget even more? But Zayn does. Oh, how he wants to add these hours to the tally of his life that he’s lost. It isn’t even a fucking question, really. Of course he wants to forget that train wreck of a conversation with Liam where he didn’t say nearly enough and Liam said far too much, and nothing was as Zayn had once dreamed it would be.

  
_We broke up over a year ago._

  
He wishes he could say the echo of Liam’s voice hurts his splintered heart less, but it doesn’t. Christ, it doesn’t. So Zayn shies away from that train of thought, because he can’t. He just fucking can’t think about it.

  
Zayn can’t think about Liam leaving him, not when he had counted on him as a forever. Not when he had thought they’d be an always. Not when infinity had once seemed possible. Forever, always, infinity – cheesy words that Liam had once giggled at when Zayn whispered them into his ear, cuddled so damn close on couches, beds, floors together, and never once had Liam argued that maybe they weren’t a promise of eternity. So no, Zayn can’t think about it, because he doesn’t understand it.

  
But of course, Zayn can’t stop himself from thinking about Liam, never has been able to control that impulse. It’s what got them together in the first place isn’t it, Zayn being unable to keep his thoughts away from Liam? And God, those memories are like twisted knives in his shredded chest because fuck, he can remember every step of his relationship with Liam.

  
He remembers so clearly how his love turned from brotherly affection to romantic interest by such small increments that he didn’t even feel it until it slammed into him one day, how completely gone he was for the brown-eyed boy he stood next to almost every single day. That moment, the moment it all changed for him, shaped the set of his shoulders, changed his personality irrevocably, and it will never go away, not even now where the memory just aches in his ruined head.

  
Liam had been standing next to him on stage, going through sound checks, so ready for the upcoming night, but it was a calm kind of ready. By that point on the X Factor Tour, they felt like pros, used to the crowds and the screaming and still unprepared for what their futures held, and none of the boys had been rowdy with anticipation, though Louis and Harry were play fighting farther away, Niall watching bemusedly from a perch on the edge of the stage. Zayn had turned to Liam, ready with some quip about the boys, but it had never made it past the back of his tongue when he had seen Liam already staring back at him, that twist of amusement to his lips like Zayn was the one tousling with Harry, though Zayn had just been freaking standing there, rolling his eyes at it all. The feeling had slammed into his chest hard, and Zayn hadn’t had to question what it was as he stared – gawked, really – at Liam’s soft, fond expression. Love was not a foreign concept to Zayn, and he couldn’t mistake it for anything else as he stared at the boy who had so quickly become his best mate, and it was in that moment, such an insignificant one that they repeated over and over again, that he knew he loved Liam in a way he hadn’t been prepared for.

  
And it’s just the beginning moment, just the starting point of the race he had tried to run, as though he could outrun his feelings. The rest of the tour was an agony of acting normal while tearing his insides to pieces trying to figure out how this had happened, how he had allowed himself to fall for Liam. It wasn’t like it was a shock that he had fallen for a boy, by that point Zayn had known his sexuality, but it was a shock that he had fallen for someone he knew so well. It was out of character, completely unexpected, and unrequited. So weeks passed and Zayn pretended like he wasn’t losing himself in a maze of thoughts, but God, he was shit at it, he remembers. Liam caught on so quickly, and then it was fumbled excuses, blurting out his sexuality to the boys, awkward moments where Zayn was teetering on the edge of telling Liam until finally the boy with brown eyes had cornered him, pressed Zayn into a wall and pressed his own feelings into Zayn’s mouth with sweet kisses that Zayn had never expected.

  
Liam had initiated the relationship Zayn had been far too scared to ask for, and it was Liam who confessed it to management, as the two sat there clinging to each other’s hands, faced with a firing squad and forced into blindfolds and bindings. They had agreed so blindly to a secret relationship, so ready to do whatever it took to have everything they wanted, and then the Perrie issue had come up, and it had all come screeching to a halt.

  
Zayn can remember that fight, their very first fight, so well, even though it wasn’t really a fight. It ended up more as a collection of conversations where Zayn was oblivious and Liam was desperately opposed.

 

_“No.”_

  
_Zayn blinks slowly, once, twice, because his mind has gone blank and he swears that he just heard Liam say..._

  
_“No.”_

  
_Turning his head, Zayn can’t help but gape at Liam, who stares ahead with a carefully constructed mask on his face, as he denies their management for the first time, ever. See, Liam’s always been the good one, the one management can rely on – after Louis, of course, who deals primarily with them – to control the other boys at least to a small degree, and Liam’s never outright denied management a request. Until now apparently._

  
_And looking at the suits’ faces on the other side of this ridiculous conference table it’s very clear that they can’t believe it either._

  
_“Liam,” one of them hedges hesitantly, his face clearly showing his uncertainty, “we weren’t asking you.”_

  
_Zayn flinches, hard, and his hand is moving to cover Liam’s before he even thinks about it. Liam’s hand is clenched into a fist on the armrest between them, but with a simple tap on the back of it, he relaxes the grip so that Zayn can slip his fingers in between Liam’s. It drags a smile onto Zayn’s face, the ease with which they do this, and it’s ridiculous that such a simple gesture like holding hands can knock the air from his lungs, but it’s just the truth._

  
_“No,” and now Zayn’s voice is the one interrupting the still air between everyone in the room. Eyes swivel to look at him, but all he’s really thinking about is the tense set of Liam’s shoulders, the completely unhappy look on his face buried underneath that mask that could never hide him from Zayn. “No,” he repeats, “anything you ask me to do, you’re asking him too.”_

  
_The head suit, the man who spoke before, looks unhappy and unimpressed with this announcement. “Look, we know you two are dating, and we’ve accepted that on conditions previously set down –”_

  
_“Exactly,” Liam interrupts. “And none of those conditions included forcing Zayn to pretend to date some girl he just met.”_

  
_“Those conditions were settled on a year ago, and you two have become a bit too obvious as of late, so we really think it’s best –”_

  
_“To pretend that we’re both straight,” Liam’s lips twist in an ugly expression, and Zayn can’t help but flinch. Liam, of course, notices immediately and shoots him an apologetic look followed by a soothing circle rubbed over Zayn’s thumb, but Liam isn’t backing down._

  
_Nobody speaks after that for a moment, and Zayn glares down at his lap, an unsettled feeling nestled in his stomach. He hadn’t expected the meeting to go like this, like an attack on his and Liam’s relationship, and it’s only been a year, one year of them together, but it feels like a promise of forever, and now management is tainting that feeling. And the worst part is that a small, traitorous, part of Zayn is whispering that they might actually have a point, that it might be a good idea..._

  
_“Look,” the head suit begins again, “Perrie and Zayn are friends –” Zayn can’t help the small noise that escapes him because that isn’t, strictly speaking, true. Liam was right; Zayn had only met Perrie a short while ago, and sure, he had liked her well enough, but they weren’t exactly friends. The suit ignores him and doggedly continues, “– And since Little Mix is also under Modest it would be easily arranged.”_

  
_“No,” Liam repeats firmly, and it’s so clear that he isn’t changing his mind. Everybody always assumes that Liam’s old nickname, Daddy Direction, comes from his ability to rein the other boys in, but really it comes from this – this tone of voice he sometimes gets, like whatever he is saying is final. Zayn would be lying if he said it isn’t a massive turn on._

  
_“Zayn?”_

  
_He turns his eyes from admiring Liam (thinking about the empty flat they have waiting and the various places he hasn’t fucked Liam in it yet), and turns to the suit who looks at him pleadingly. Clearly, they’re hoping that Zayn will be the voice of reason here – it makes sense, that small part of him whispers, it wouldn’t be a big deal – but he shakes his head._

  
_“I won’t do anything Liam doesn’t agree to.”_

  
_Liam shoots him a relieved smile, hand squeezing around his like Liam was actually worried, and Zayn smiles back at him, and that’s the end of it._

 

_Except it wasn’t, not quite, because that voice in the back of Zayn’s head wouldn’t shut up. It kept whispering to him whenever he found himself alone, how much easier it would make everything if Zayn had a fake girlfriend, how the rumors would die down, how the slurs would die down. Because management was right, Zayn and Liam haven’t been very cautious lately about hiding their relationship, and some people are commenting, and some of those comments aren’t positive._

  
_It rolls right off of Liam, those negative whispers in the dark corners of the fandom, but it doesn’t with Zayn. The comments stick to him, and he knows exactly why, can still remember the months it took for his family to adjust to his sexuality when he finally came out to them, and it’s more personal to him than it is to Liam._

  
_So, despite his better judgment, Zayn broaches it one day with Liam._   
_“Management called me again,” he tries to say it conversationally, but he isn’t sure it comes out right._

  
_Liam tenses up immediately next to Zayn, the idle fingers that had been tracing along Zayn’s chest going still. Zayn, like the coward he is, refuses to look down at Liam beside him in bed, afraid of his expression, but he drags him closer, pressing their bodies together. “They still want you to date Perrie,” Liam’s voice is so quiet in the dimmed lighting of their hotel room._

  
_“To pretend to date Perrie,” the correction is automatic, but so important._

  
_“No,” Liam says, like he has said every time before whenever the subject has come up._

  
_So Zayn lets it go._

 

_Until another month later, when management has called him once again, followed by a call from Perrie that Zayn honestly hadn’t expected. He isn’t really surprised that they finally went to her with the idea, should have expected it, but he is surprised by the way she shrugged it off with an ‘it’s up to you, Zayn.’ And that voice is still in the back of his head, whispering more insistently now about the band’s image and their publicity and how many albums they still have to do._

  
_So he broaches it again, expecting the same reaction, but what he gets instead is a furious Liam._

  
_“Do you want to date her?”_

  
_Zayn freezes, halfway over to his suitcase to drag out a change of clothes, and he can’t even really process that statement because not only do the words not make sense, but Liam’s tone is walking a border between angry and.... and hurt. “What?”_

  
_When Liam doesn’t immediately answer, Zayn turns to look at his boyfriend, and what he sees makes his heart stop. Liam’s got his arms folded on his chest, and he’s glaring down at his bare feet, unhappily chewing on his bottom lip in the habit he’s gotten from Zayn. And it’s so obvious then, how Liam truly feels._

  
_Zayn, who sucks in a surprised gasp of air, breathes out his name, “Oh, Liam.”_

  
_Liam’s head snaps up, already on the defensive. “Because that’s what it sounds like,” he snaps out, eyes going bright with irritation. “You’re so eager to pretend to date her, to go out with her in public, to hold hands and go on dates and...”_

  
_And do everything we can’t do. Zayn doesn’t need Liam to finish the sentence to understand it, and suddenly Liam’s surprising reaction to the idea isn’t surprising at all. See, Liam’s the one who took the risk, the one who finally made the move, the one who confessed that he loves Zayn first, and it’s always made their relationship slightly unbalanced. Zayn had thought, foolishly perhaps, that that imbalance had disappeared after all this time, but it’s very clear looking at Liam now that it hasn’t. Liam’s still worried that Zayn will change his mind._

  
_“I don’t want to date Perrie.”_

  
_“You talk to her all the time.”_

  
_Zayn flinches and then frowns at Liam. “I don’t.”_

  
_And Liam just deflates, but Zayn’s already there to catch him, wrapping his arms around Liam who buries his head in Zayn’s shoulder. “I know,” his voice is quiet in the fabric of Zayn’s t-shirt, words broken. “God, Zayn, I know. It’s stupid; I’m stupid.”_

  
_“You aren’t stupid,” Zayn argues without hesitation. “You’re never stupid Liam, never. I didn’t... you should have told me.”_

  
_Liam laughs drily into his shoulder, mumbling something that Zayn doesn’t catch._

  
_“I won’t do it,” Zayn says instead of asking Liam what he had said, instinctively shying away from the topic that clearly caused Liam so much distress. “Don’t worry, Li, I won’t pretend to date Perrie.”_

  
_Liam clings to him tighter then, just holding on, and Zayn lets it happen. Sometimes he forgets how isolating what they do is, but then Liam will cling to him like this, and he’ll remember. And then he’ll thank the world for having Liam, because he isn’t sure he could ever do it alone._

 

And now Zayn’s in a hospital room, dopey with drugs and still on the edge of unconsciousness, and he just doesn’t understand how they got from there, to here. Most of what he has learned since waking up is a blur, a blur of agony and pain and confusion, but it’s very clear to him that he did start fake dating Perrie, and Zayn doesn’t understand.

  
Sure, the last thing he remembers is waiting in Liam’s room to bring up the issue again, but he doesn’t remember thinking Liam would ever agree. It had been more of a last ditch effort on his part to appease everyone, management and Perrie and Liam, and Zayn had honestly expected it to end in tears and a fight and then him apologizing for being a coward.

  
He had never imagined that Liam would actually agree to Zayn pretending to date Perrie.

  
But that isn’t what’s making him itch now, shifting because he can’t get comfortable. No, what’s haunting his mind is the implication behind the events of this day or night or whatever. Because Liam said they broke up (and it still knocks the breath out of Zayn, still sends a razor through his gut, but he’s beginning to believe it because Liam would never lie about that, never) and Perrie was here, and then Liam had said that Zayn was engaged, and Zayn would never pretend to be engaged to someone.

  
So now his mind’s throwing at him the idea that he actually started dating Perrie, truly dating her, and that just... it doesn’t make sense, because Zayn’s in love with Liam. Zayn’s so ridiculously in love with Liam that he had a massive panic attack at the thought of not being with Liam and had to be knocked out with drugs. It’s codependency at its worst, addiction on a level Zayn had never expected, but it was never something _bad_ , never.

  
It is now though. Zayn’s absolutely wrecked by the very idea that he isn’t with Liam anymore, and he doesn’t even have the reality of it. He has nothing of the way it all fell apart, not a single memory, and the word engaged is echoing around in his tender mind.

  
Liam had said that Zayn was engaged to Perrie.

  
_“Engaged,” the word leaves Liam’s lips like poison, and Zayn’s flinch only makes Liam sneer harder at him. “You’re fucking engaged, Malik. Christ, and I believed you when you said that you didn’t even want to pretend to date her. Fucking hell.”_

  
The words seem to echo just behind his ears, and Zayn furrows his brow because he doesn’t remember that. He doesn’t remember those words being spoken, but he can clearly hear them in Liam’s voice, and they sound almost familiar in the worst way –

  
“You’re up.”

  
Zayn snaps his head over to the lone chair in his room, set up in the corner so as to be unobtrusive, and he hadn’t noticed that somebody was sleeping in it, but he does now. The fact that the somebody is Louis registers immediately, but the differences follow soon after, and Zayn’s distracted immediately.

  
The boy looking sleepily back at him is not even close to the boy Zayn remembers. For one, Louis’s hair is a complete mess, long and unkempt and half-hidden under a beanie that looks like something Zayn would own. His arms are covered in almost as much ink now as Harry’s had been, and he’s dressed in sweats and a worn t-shirt. He honestly looks like some combination between what Harry and Zayn had been, what they still were in Zayn’s mind.

  
Louis takes in his distraction with more alert eyes and then lets out a low whistle. “Well, fuck, Harry wasn’t kidding. You really don’t remember.”

  
That shocks Zayn into focus, and he shakes his head slowly. “No. I... I thought it was 2012.”

  
Louis just nods, like that makes sense, and Zayn relaxes immediately because it’s Louis. Sure he’s loud and sometimes obnoxious, but Louis has always had this ability to sense how someone feels, to just know what they need, and that clearly hasn’t changed. “That fucking sucks,” he says emphatically. “I’m so sorry Zayn, and here I am with barely a scratch on me.”

  
“What happened?” Zayn’s startled by the question, but he suddenly wants to know. No one gave him any details before he freaked out and was put under. Or, if they had, Zayn hadn’t been paying attention.

  
Louis settles back in his seat, and shrugs. “You and I have taken to going on drives since... well for about a year now. We were just driving, heading to some shops where we hopefully wouldn’t be recognized, and some arsehole came into our lane. Head on collision, and the other guy didn’t make it. They think he might’ve been on something.”

  
“You were driving?” Zayn questions because he can’t imagine that he would drive.

  
“I got my license, y’know. Driving calms me down. It was a bitch getting anyone to agree to allow it though, and now I doubt they’ll ever let me near my own car again.”

  
Zayn’s lips almost quirk into a smile at that because well, it’s just such a Louis thing to say in this situation. Focus on the smallest inconvenience and ignore the massive one. He can’t say that he disagrees with the idea, but suddenly another question is burning on his tongue, and Zayn knows that he shouldn’t ask it. He shouldn’t torture himself, but he’s going to.

  
“Is it true, Lou?”

  
Maybe it’s his tone, broken and defeated because he already knows the answer, but Louis knows immediately what Zayn is asking.

  
His expression hardly changes, but Louis gets up from the chair and crowds closer, shoving Zayn slightly until Zayn moves enough for Louis to climb into the hospital bed with him. Resting his head on Zayn’s shoulder, he answers quietly, “It’s true, Zayn. I’m so sorry, but it’s true.”

  
And Zayn he just – he was expecting that answer, honestly he was – but it still drags the breath from his lungs with clawed hands and his mind still exclaims that, _No. No that isn’t right._ Except he knows that it is. Somewhere deep down, he knew as soon as Liam walked in and didn’t immediately run to him. Or even before that, when Zayn woke up and Liam wasn’t right by his side. Zayn woke up missing memories, but he woke up feeling the loss of something much more important, like even if the memories were no longer there, the hole that Liam left in his life was still present. Liam’s absence is so present that Zayn can’t even fucking breathe, and he never thought he’d have to deal with this because he never believed he and Liam would end.

  
But Liam wouldn’t lie to him about it, and the hurt on his features wasn’t feigned. Perrie was here when he woke up, and Harry was devastated in that way that Harry is by anything even the slightest bit sad. And now Louis is here, in his room at night, and he’s confirming it.

  
And it just sinks into Zayn’s bones, the fact that he isn’t with Liam anymore.

  
He isn’t even surprised when the first sob rips its way out of his throat, and the ones following sound just as brutal and if he heard anyone else making this noise, he’d probably run for help because he sounds like a fucking dying animal. But Louis just wraps an arm around his shoulders and brings him in closer.

  
The hand rubbing Zayn’s back in comfort is too small, he thinks desperately, and it only makes him cry harder, the tears streaming down his face because all he wants is Liam. It’s always been Liam, since the band was first formed. It was Liam who broke through to Zayn first, who cracked that emotional distance Zayn kept from everybody. It was Liam who became Zayn’s best mate, Liam who Zayn went to when his granddad died, Liam who knew exactly when Zayn needed comforting. It was always Liam, even before they dated, and Zayn can’t fathom how it isn’t Liam now.

  
Liam has always been dangerously close to the center of Zayn’s world, and now he’s gone, and Zayn thinks deliriously of black holes because he feels like his entire universe is being sucked into nothing and he has no idea what’s on the other side, and he sobs, brokenly, into Louis’s shoulder.

* * *

 

Zayn passes out on Louis’s shoulder after that, but he’s woken up repeatedly throughout the night as nurses check up on him. Each time he just sits there listlessly, letting them prod and poke at him, his mind still clouded in the deep ache of loss that he doesn’t understand. Liam doesn’t come back into the room, and eventually Louis leaves to find his own bed once more, and when Zayn finally wakes up in the morning for the final time, Niall’s the one who greets him.

  
“Zayn,” Niall’s engulfing him in a hug that should be awkward considering that Zayn’s still lying down and Niall’s half on top of him, but it isn’t.

  
Zayn hugs him back, so gratefully, because Niall looks the same. His arms are a bit bigger, his face a bit aged, but he’s mostly the same, and it feels indescribably good to see someone who looks the same. “Niall,” he greets his bandmate back, squeezing harder when Niall doesn’t let go. “Shhhh, Niall, I’m okay.”

  
“No you aren’t, wanker,” Niall mutters, accent coming out a bit thicker because he’s clearly upset. “You’ve lost two fucking years, Zayn.”

  
He tries not to tense up at the reminder because it isn’t like he’d forgotten through the night. No, every single time that Zayn had been woken up, he had immediately remembered the harsh reality of his life now. Honestly, he’s drowning in that knowledge, barely clinging onto his sanity, but he can’t tell Niall that, not Niall. “It’ll be fine, Niall,” he says instead, squeezing once more before letting Niall go, and they both ignore the way his voice is rough with the after effects of tears.

  
Niall scrambles backward, flopping bonelessly into the chair that he must have dragged closer at some point. “Sorry,” he grins sheepishly. “We were just so worried about you. They brought you in unconscious and you looked ghastly, mate, honest. Harry thought you were dead, and he was screaming at Louis, and then grabbing Louis’s face to make sure he was alright in the next breath, because that’s y’know Harry.”

  
And Zayn can picture it easily, Harry’s torn behavior. It’s how he remembers Harry acting towards Louis the last few months before his memories stop. But that’s a Harry from two years ago, and honestly he’s a bit surprised. “So that hasn’t changed then?”

  
Niall grimaces slightly. “Harry and Louis?”

  
Zayn nods, trying not to grimace as well. They always phrase it like that, ‘Harry and Louis,’ because despite the band being together for well over a year now (longer in actuality but in Zayn’s mind still only over a year) none of the rest of them can find a label that fits Harry and Louis.

  
“They’re still the same,” Niall answers, frowning, “but worse and better at the same time. Louis’s still with Eleanor, and Harry, he’s losing it but pretending he isn’t. Some days, its fine, but others it’s absolutely horrible.”

  
“I’m surprised,” Zayn admits, chewing on his lower lip. Harry and Louis have been dancing around their feelings for the entirety of being in a band together, and no one’s really sure if they’ve even done anything together (though it’s almost a sure bet that they have) but the imbalance between them has always been glaringly obvious. Louis is the one that keeps pushing Harry away, and Zayn isn’t surprised that Harry’s losing it, especially if Louis is still lying to himself about Eleanor. It’s... well there aren’t really words for what it is, besides fucked up.

  
“He’s been with Eleanor this whole time?” Zayn asks, just to clarify. At Niall’s nod, he snorts. “Are they engaged yet then?”

  
Niall grins. “No, mate, only you’ve made that plunge.” He realizes his mistake immediately, clapping a hand over his mouth and then mumbling through it, “Shit, man. Did you know that? Has somebody told you?”

  
Zayn grimaces ignoring the pit in his stomach that gaped open immediately at Niall’s words. “I... yeah I heard that I was engaged to um, Perrie. I just can’t, like, remember any of it. Nothing past April of 2012.”

  
“That’s actually why I’m here,” Niall announces, smiling once more in that way Niall has, like the world’s all sunshine and rainbows, everything from Harry and Louis to Perrie forgotten in the blink of an eye. “The doctors are meant to be doing some tests on you today, but in your free time, they suggested that someone fill you in. Said it might jog your memory or whatever.”

  
“So everyone nominated you for the job?” Zayn quirks an eyebrow.

  
“Nah, I volunteered man.”

  
“Don’t you think Perrie would be better at telling me about our relationship?”

  
Niall winces, just slightly, and then avoids meeting Zayn’s eyes. “She um, she isn’t here. Harry said she left yesterday, after well, after you woke up and didn’t remember. He also said, um....”

  
And Zayn remembers suddenly, the comment Perrie had made when he had first woken up. “Oh, right. Perrie and I broke up apparently.” He should probably be more upset about the fact that Perrie isn’t here, that she took off, but he isn’t. He just, he can’t force himself to feel anything about it, emotions still numb from his multiple freak outs the day before.

  
And honestly, he doesn’t want to feel anything for her. Zayn’s every emotion is still entangled with thoughts of Liam, and even if thinking about that feels like stabbing himself repeatedly with a rose bush right now, it’s still true. So, Zayn doesn’t want to think about any of it, and he’s gotten ridiculously good at ignoring things he doesn’t want to think about, just blocking them out until they almost cease to exist. He inhales, pushes Liam and Perrie and the word engagement to the back of his mind, and exhales, letting it all go.

  
“Right,” Niall nods, looking infinitely relieved that Zayn seems to know this. “Though, I’ve got to tell ya, mate, that came as a surprise. You hadn’t told any of us, though apparently Perrie told Harry it had happened over a month ago.”

  
Zayn just shakes his head, registering the words and wondering about it too, but he’s so ready to move on from this conversation. “Can’t tell you why I didn’t tell everybody, Ni. I don’t even remember dating her.”

  
An awkward silence hangs in the air then, as the unspoken subject of Liam dangles between them, but Zayn isn’t prepared to breach it, not yet, and Niall won’t do it. That’s the other good thing about Niall, he’s an avoider. Anything even slightly uncomfortable, and Niall heads for the hills.

  
And he doesn’t disappoint now. Clapping his hands together, like he’s dismissing Liam’s ghost from the room, he grins, “So, are ya ready to hear about One Direction, the greatest boy band in the world?”

* * *

 

Throughout the day Zayn’s wheeled (literally, wheeled, like, in a wheel chair which is just ridiculous) to various other rooms, going through tests that he frankly doesn’t understand, but he surprisingly isn’t concerned about it, and that has a lot to do with Niall.

  
Niall had said that the other boys didn’t nominate him for the job of filling Zayn in, but they should have. He’s ridiculously great at it, flipping through photos on his phone and online, giving Zayn great detail about certain events, and it’s like he’s got a freaking timeline engraved in his head, because he goes through it chronologically. Hardly even pausing for air as Zayn’s pulled out of an MRI, Niall just grins at him and goes on and on about this award they won and that award they won, and Zayn’s eyes just grow wider as the list goes on.

  
It’s just, Zayn remembers how big One Direction blew up to be within that first year, he does. He remembers the insanity of it all, and the X Factor tour, and then the Up All Night Tour as well, which they had only just started in Zayn’s mind, and he knows that they were big, much bigger than they had ever dreamed. But he isn’t prepared for this, for it to still be going two years later.

  
Because it is.

  
One Direction is fucking massive, and Zayn, he just has no idea what to do with that information. Niall’s currently wheeling him towards his hospital room, the tests over with for now, and he’s describing the last Brit Awards they went to.

  
“Wait, so we won another Brit?”

  
Niall laughs, that familiar carefree laugh that Zayn can’t help but describe as simply Irish. “Mate, we’ve won multiple Brit awards. And others besides. It’s a bit ridiculous to be honest.”

  
“Where do we keep them all?” It’s a stupid detail to focus on, but Zayn can’t help it. His mind is refusing to accept that they’re this successful.

  
“Everywhere, man,” Niall shrugs. “We’ve all got places now. Well, actually, you had a flat, with um, with Perrie....”

  
He trails off, and Zayn realizes that he’s hoping Zayn will finish that thought. Except he can’t. He has no idea if he’s still sharing a flat with Perrie, because he didn’t even know he had been sharing a flat with Perrie, and it’s becoming glaringly obvious that Zayn kept all of those details to himself.

  
“Did I tell you guys anything about me and Perrie?” he wonders out loud as he’s wheeled once more into his hospital room. Niall stops pushing his wheelchair and flops into the lone other chair in the room while Zayn carefully lays back in the bed that’s beginning to smell like him. He’s sore, just a bit bruised, and the tests are over now, but Zayn’s afraid to ask when he can leave. He’s afraid of the answer.

  
“Not really,” Niall shrugs again, frowning like he doesn’t understand it but not like it particularly bothers him. That’s the other thing about Niall though; he rarely takes things personally, but when he does, it feels like you’ve killed a puppy honestly. “I’ve got the basics, but everyone has those. She came to some of the tour dates, when she could, and you’d go to hers sometimes, but you didn’t really talk about her, mate. It was like how we try not to talk about Louis and Eleanor in front of Harry.”

  
Zayn nods at the comparison because really that’s the only thing the band doesn’t talk about openly. They’re ridiculously, probably disturbingly, close. “So give me the basics then. I don’t remember any of it, and I’d rather not have to Google myself.”

  
Niall snorts, because hell, they’ve all made that mistake before, and he gets it, the way only the other boys ever understand him. “Alright. So you started publically dating Perrie in May, like a month after what you remember basically, and then in like, I think it was only August and management had you guys moving in together. Except, well, she moved into your place, and you moved into Liam’s. All about appearances you know?” Niall barrels on, refusing to allow Zayn to linger on the idea of living with Liam.

  
“And then well, it was fine for a bit, but then everything fell apart. You and Perrie started actually dating in August 2013, I think, and then you were engaged by the premiere of our movie This Is Us, and it’s been pretty much steady since then. Except the break-up, which you didn’t mention.”

  
Zayn lets out a long breath, the words foreign to his ears. It’s not often that he feels like he’s hearing about someone else when he’s hearing about his life, but this is definitely one of those times. So... if Niall’s right in his timeline, then he and Liam broke up before August 2013, two years and some change after they had gotten together. Just over. And then he was with Perrie.

  
“So, Perrie and I were real then?” He can’t stop the question, even though he’s sure of the answer. It’s just one of those things that you have to hear out loud, though.

  
Niall lets out a laugh that he cuts short, as though Zayn surprised it out of him. “Christ, man, I’d hope so considering you tattooed her face onto your arm.”

  
“What?”

  
Niall has the grace to look a bit ashamed, but he taps at his bicep, and Zayn rips up the sleeve of his hospital top to glare at the mentioned skin. He’s still somehow surprised to see a cartoon version of Perrie Edwards looking back at him. It’s... he can’t even put words to it, because fuck, he’d never thought he’d do something like this. It isn’t... it’s definitely his work, but shit, he’d never even thought of getting a tattoo of someone else.

  
Silence drags on as he stares at the offending mark, which his mind helpfully tells him is permanent, fuck you very much, and then he carefully arranges his sleeve over the tattoo and promptly tries to forget it exists.

  
“Zayn?” Niall’s voice is hesitant, and Zayn can tell by his wide blue eyes that he’s sorry he mentioned it.

  
“That’s unexpected,” he answers, brushing it off. “When did I get that?”

  
“Um, about June I think. Couple of months before you told us you were actually dating her. Guess the tat should’ve been a clue though, huh?”

  
Zayn shuts his eyes and rubs at his head, which is pounding again. It’s just a lot to process, this entire relationship he apparently had. That tattoo, well it almost makes it surreal. It almost makes him want to laugh. He doesn’t though.

  
He’s trying to piece together a time line in his head, trying to fit the ending of a relationship and the beginning of another one in that time frame, but he can’t. He’s still missing so much information. He knows, for a fact, that he wouldn’t have been with Liam when he got the tattoo. There’s no way he would have done that to Liam. So he and Liam had to have broken up before June, literally just two years after they got together.

  
Keeping his eyes closed, Zayn finally breaks and just asks, “Niall, when did Liam and I break up?” The words hurt, physically hurt, as they roll off of his tongue.

  
Niall, good mate that he is, doesn’t hesitate really. “No one’s really sure. You guys didn’t tell us like right away, and by that point, well everything was a bit unsteady all around. My best guess is June though, right before the tattoo.”

  
Two years. That’s how long he and Liam were together, and in a fit of dark humor, Zayn thinks it’s fitting that that’s about how much time he’s lost. His life in two year increments. Fuck.

  
“What happened?”

  
It’s a cold whisper slithering out of his lungs like cigarette smoke, and the thought makes him realize it’s been at least a day since he’s smoked. He can feel the craving, a hunger in his throat. His hands will start shaking soon, he’s sure, but for now, he’s a bit frozen.

  
Niall surprises him by answering though. “No one really knows, Zayn. Neither of you talked about it.”

 

Zayn wishes he could say he was surprised, but it’s suddenly starting to sound familiar, this litany of Zayn not talking about it. When he was younger, Zayn mostly kept to himself. He thought that had changed with these boys, but he isn’t surprised that he reverted to old habits when it got hard. No, he wouldn’t have shared this pain with anyone. He would have kept it inside, buried, tearing him up on the inside.

  
Liam, though, he’s surprised that Liam kept it to himself. Or maybe not. Zayn guesses that if he had dumped his fellow bandmate, broken Liam’s heart, he wouldn’t want to talk about it either.

  
“Zayn?”

  
He can tell he’s freaking Niall out, and that’s what snaps him away from his thoughts. It’s an unspoken rule in the band: don’t upset Niall. So he just pulls away from the dark thoughts, pushes it all back.

  
Instead he shoots Niall a raised eyebrow, classic Zayn Malik move he’s not sure when he started doing and says, “I need a cigarette.”

* * *

 

The doctor comes in when Harry and Louis are with Zayn, and honestly, he’s kind of grateful for the interruption.

  
The tense air between Harry and Louis isn’t new. It’s actually been ongoing since the formation of the band basically. But what is new, is the icy feel to it. Before, even when Harry and Louis were distant, there was still electricity between them. Zayn really can’t explain it any other way. Where Zayn and Liam were like a calm for each other, Harry and Louis were always like lightning, burning up everything within eyesight. But now, well it’s different.

  
They acknowledge each other, of course; they speak and they joke and they even tease, but it’s all rather mundane. It’s like they’re any two boys interacting with someone who is a friend but isn’t anything more. In short, it’s just wrong. Harry and Louis are so much more than that, and it’s kind of killing Zayn to watch them like this.

  
So the doctor, the same woman from before, comes in, and he fucking smiles at her, he’s so relieved.

  
“Well, you’re smiling,” she comments. “That’s good.”

  
“Bad news then?” Louis asks.

  
“Louis,” Harry hisses, green eyes flashing dark for a moment. Louis looks at him and shrugs, and Harry rolls his eyes.

  
“Right,” the doctor barrels on. “Not bad news. The scans don’t show any physical trauma, like we suspected. Physically your brain is perfectly fine.”

  
“So I’m just mentally fucked up then?”

  
The doctor cracks a smile, and Louis guffaws. Harry sighs and flops his long limbs into the empty chair, like he’s given up on them all.

  
“Right,” the doctor says again, smiling at them all with a friendly kind of warmth that Zayn instantly likes. “So it’s just going to be a matter of time then. The memories should all return within the next couple of months, and they’ll come back sporadically. Nothing like what you see in the movies, I’m afraid.”

  
Zayn bites his lip, uncertainty creeping up on him again. He doesn’t want to ask what his chances of remembering everything are. He remembers, from before, the doctor telling him that almost everyone got their memories back, and he refuses to dwell on the fact that she said almost everyone instead of just everyone. But he still has questions.

  
“What will they feel like, the memories?”

  
“Anything and everything,” she smiles tightly like she’s completely aware of how unhelpful that is and like she’s sorry about that fact. “It can be an actual memory playing in your mind, like any of the other memories you have, set off by a word or a picture. It can be just the sound. It could be a smell. It could be just a flash of someone’s face. Some patients even report their memories coming back to them like dreams.”

  
“Dreams?” Zayn echoes. “How would I know then? Does it feel different than a regular dream?”

  
The doctor shrugs, actually shrugs, which is not a motion that doctors should ever make in Zayn’s opinion. “I’m sorry, Mr. Malik, but I really can’t say with certainty. Most patients state that they just knew it was a memory. Unfortunately, this healing process is going to be internal, and we can certainly try to guide you through it, but it’s all up to you.”

  
“Great,” Zayn mutters.

  
The doctor offers him a tight smile again. “We’ll be keeping you for another day, for observation, but if nothing changes, we can discharge you day after tomorrow.”

  
Zayn shrugs at her. He doesn’t really care when he’s allowed to leave, isn’t sure where he’s even going to go once he is out. Fuck, he’s not even sure what the band is doing right now.

  
The doctor nods and exits, no fanfare and no more reassuring words. It makes Zayn think he likes her again.

  
As soon as the door closes, Louis pounces. “We have a performance tomorrow.”

  
Harry growls out Louis’s name just as Zayn blurts, “What?”

  
Louis nods. “That’s why we’re here, in America. Our new album releases tomorrow, and we’re performing on the Today Show. Bit of a tradition, that.”

  
“I – okay?”

  
“You aren’t performing,” Harry throws in, running a hand through his long hair while glaring at Louis. “We already talked to management – who will probably call you today by the way – and it’s been agreed. The story is that you’re sick, can’t perform, so we do it without you. Then, the next interview isn’t until a few days after, so we’ll see by then if you feel up to doing it.”

  
“We aren’t telling anyone about the memory loss?” Zayn somehow, isn’t shocked by that news. The amount of detail that management keeps out of the public’s view is astounding, offering them fake details instead.

  
“No,” Louis answers. “You can tell your family – called your mom and updated her this morning, she’ll call you later – but no one else. Management doesn’t want the attention.”

  
“Right.”

  
There’s really nothing else to say after that, though Harry and Louis fill the silence with little details. The boys’ll be heading out tomorrow morning, performing live, doing an interview after. They’ll be back right afterwards, since they’re staying stateside for a bit. The album is called FOUR, they wrote most of it, they’re all really excited about the release. It goes on and on, all of it washing over Zayn with a dull roar, though he tries to remember it all. He knows its stuff he’ll need to know, specifically the details about the new album, but once again, he finds it’s hard to care about any of it.

  
There’s a disconnect between his life and his mind, now, and he knows it won’t go away until his memories return. When they return. If they return.

  
He hopes they return.

* * *

 

_“Liam, wha–?” Zayn’s cut off as Liam barges into the room and then slams Zayn against the wall, using his body to pin Zayn there. “Christ.”_

  
_Liam’s eyes are dark with desperation, and he’s biting his bottom lip wearing an expression of need on his face that completely knocks every single thought out of Zayn’s head except for, oh._

  
_And he gets it immediately, what Liam wants. They both get like this sometimes, possessive to an almost destructive degree. So when Liam says, “You’re mine,” in a low growl that shoots straight to Zayn’s dick, he knows exactly where this is headed._

  
_“Yours,” he answers automatically, no hesitation, because fuck, he gets it. They aren’t allowed to show affection in public, can’t even hold hands, and it gets to be a bit much. Zayn just wants everyone to know that Liam is his, and clearly, right now, Liam feels the same, desperate to mark Zayn as his boyfriend._

  
_Zayn grips Liam’s jaw in his hand, fingers rubbing at the familiar scruff there, as he pulls Liam into a kiss that Liam immediately takes over, and Zayn groans. He loves everything about Liam, honestly he does, but Liam like this, so unwound and undone, is quite possibly Zayn’s favorite version of his boyfriend. Possessive Liam fucks him until he can’t sit down for a week comfortably, and Zayn isn’t ashamed to say that he fucking loves it._

  
_Liam’s lips press hard into Zayn’s, the kiss sloppy and wet as his tongue forces its way into Zayn’s mouth, silencing the moan settling on Zayn’s tongue. Every inch of Liam’s admittedly hard body presses Zayn further into the wall, Liam shoving a thigh between Zayn’s legs to rub against him, and Christ, Liam’s already hard against his hip._

  
_“Fuck,” Zayn gasps when Liam pulls away, only to shove Zayn’s shirt over his shoulder, sucking a dark mark on the hidden skin that Zayn arches into. “Jesus, Liam.” He’s already hard too, moving against Liam because he can’t help it. His self-control is shit anyways, and Liam’s usually the voice of reason, but not right now._

  
_A voice in the back of Zayn’s head is telling him that he should ask Liam what brought this on, but he can’t concentrate enough to get the words out, not when Liam’s hips have started moving against his._

  
_But it’s like Liam has read his mind, because he pants out against Zayn’s neck, “Photos. I saw the photos, and I hate it. I hate seeing you with her.”_

  
_Zayn’s stomach drops, but the words don’t really make sense, and then Liam’s pulling away. Before Zayn can make a sound of protest, Liam’s fingers are at his jeans, already undoing the button. “Babe,” Zayn breathes out, his own hands falling to his sides._

  
_Liam shakes his head. “Just need you.”_

  
_And Zayn can’t deny Liam anything, so he nods because fuck, of course he wants Liam right now. He always wants Liam._

  
_He doesn’t expect Liam to drop to his knees right here though, yanking Zayn’s jeans and pants down with him so that Zayn’s cock is exposed, flushed with his obvious desire._

  
_Zayn makes a surprised noise, eyes going wide, but Liam doesn’t give him any time to react – to maybe say that they shouldn’t do this here, where anyone could and likely would walk in – because he’s swallowing around the head of Zayn’s cock without a word._

  
_“Shit.” Zayn’s head makes a loud thud against the wall as his neck gives up. Liam’s hand wraps around the base of Zayn’s cock, stroking expertly to meet his mouth as he easily bobs his head, and fuck, Zayn is screwed._

  
_“Leeyum, shit, babe,” he babbles as Liam’s tongue traces the vein on the underside of his dick, and his hands are trying to thread through Liam’s hair, but he can’t get a grip on the short bristles. He growls in frustration, and Liam chuckles around his cock, somehow, and just fuck._

  
_“Li,” Zayn’s voice is getting breathless already as Liam hollows his cheeks, and Zayn can’t help but look down, meet Liam’s warm brown eyes. His lips are stretched obscenely around Zayn’s length, but his eyes, pupils still blown with desire, radiate love, and Zayn can’t look at him as he bobs back down, swallowing expertly around his length._

  
_“Fuck, babe, love you,” Zayn blurts, hands scratching over Liam’s head again as he throws his head back, closing his eyes because he can’t watch Liam, not without coming. Liam’s tongue swivels around his head, dancing over his slit, and Zayn bucks up unintentionally. He hisses as Liam draws back a bit, but his mouth is back around Zayn a moment later, going deeper as he swallows around Zayn’s length once more._

  
_“Li, I’m goanna –” Zayn starts to warn his boyfriend, cracking open his eyes because he can’t stand not looking at Liam suddenly. But when his eyes land on the person kneeling before him, lips wrapped around his cock, it isn’t Liam. A head of light purple hair greets him, and Zayn’s heart stops, and then begins pounding when the girl pulls away from his cock._

  
_Her lips are swollen, making a popping noise as she pulls off. Her blue eyes are icy as she glares up at him. “Did you just call me Li?”_

  
Zayn wakes up, but he doesn’t bolt upright into a sitting position. No he’s frozen, eyes wide, and he feels achingly cold. He knows that he’s hard, and he feels his stomach churn, because fuck. He’s had dreams about Liam before of course, before they got together and even after, but never... Liam’s never turned into someone else before. And Zayn doesn’t even have to ask himself who that girl was because he knows her of course. It was Perrie.

  
Zayn had a wet dream about Liam, and then Liam turned into Perrie.

  
His stomach lurches, and Zayn throws off the thin sheet covering his body. He barely makes it into the attached loo before he’s tossing up everything he’s eaten in the past twenty four hours. He keeps retching after, dry heaving over the toilet bowl, his body cold and clammy against the white tile.

  
He doesn’t want to think about the dream, not at all, but his mind keeps throwing him flashes of it, like he deserves to be punished. Miserably, Zayn thinks that he does deserve to be punished, because there’s no excuse for a dream like that. It’s so fucked up.

  
Zayn isn’t sure how long he hovers over the toilet, but it feels like hours. His body hunches with shivers eventually, so he finally forces himself up. He flushes and then leaves without looking back, refusing to think about any of it. Throwing himself into his bed, Zayn wraps himself up in the sheet and forces his eyes closed. His exhausted body grasps sleep easily, and he barely has time to hope that he doesn’t have another dream before he’s gone.

* * *

 

The shifting of several other bodies wakes him, prodding his mind into semi-consciousness. He knows without looking that it’ll be the boys, come to get him for something because Zayn’s always the last one up. His hatred of mornings is unrivalled, and this morning is no exception. In fact, it’s worse, Zayn’s head pounding like he didn’t sleep well the night before.

  
He wants to tell the boys to bugger off, is halfway to doing that, when he breathes in a familiar scent. His body relaxes immediately, face cuddling further into the pillow he’s wrapped around. That smell of citrus sends his brain into a lazy circle, and he feels his lips tugging up into a smile.

  
“Think he’s waking up lads,” Louis’s voice interrupts whoever had been speaking.

  
Zayn groans in response, burying his face further into the pillow that doesn’t smell of citrus unfortunately. He wrinkles his nose at the offensive object and then sighs. “Leeyum,” he whines out in a voice hoarse with sleep, “Make ‘em go ‘way.” His hand reaches out, flopping around as he searches for Liam’s hand or wrist, wanting to tug his boyfriend closer to him, to shield him from the harsh morning and his overbearing bandmates.

  
His hand comes into contact with someone’s wrist, but he knows instantly that it isn’t Liam. It’s definitely someone else, and Zayn tips up his head in confusion. Niall’s face swims into view as he squints up, and it takes Zayn a moment to register the blind panic there.

  
“Ni?”

  
The stiff silence in the rest of the room processes in his mind then, and Zayn budges up a bit more, looking around as his brain tries to switch gears from sleep to wakefulness. “What?” he grumbles, catching Harry’s frozen face as well. It isn’t until his gaze finally lands on Liam – standing by the door, Zayn’s lips tugging up into a smile automatically – that it hits him. It only registers because Liam’s hair is different, honestly, but it slams into Zayn immediately as he registers that one difference.

  
Liam isn’t his boyfriend anymore, and judging by the pained expression on his face, what Zayn just did isn’t something they do anymore.

  
“Fuck,” he sits upright, eyes going wide as sleep completely deserts him. “Liam, I –”

  
But Liam’s stiff-arming the door open and disappearing through it before Zayn can get another word out. His spine is ramrod straight, and he doesn’t look back, and Zayn just deflates.

  
“Shit.”

  
Oppressive silence stretches around the room, occupying every corner, and Zayn runs a tired hand through his hair.

  
He hadn’t meant to do that. Honestly, he never would have...

  
It’s just, he’s so used to waking up to Liam. Whether they were on or off tour, for the past year (in Zayn’s mind, at least) he’s woken up to Liam beside him nearly every single day. When he had smelt that citrus scent – Liam’s body wash – he had automatically assumed that it was just another day. Any other day, over two years ago.

  
“So,” Louis begins, edging slightly forward toward the bed. “Are we going to address that or no?”

  
“No,” Harry answers immediately, voice cold. When Zayn looks at him, Harry’s arms are folded over his chest, and he’s leaning against the wall by the door. His expression is a bit hard, and Zayn flinches away from it automatically.

  
“Sorry,” he whispers, looking down at his hands, uncertain why he’s apologizing but feeling like he has to anyways. “I didn’t mean to...”

  
“To hurt him?” Harry snaps out.

  
“Harry,” Louis barks before Zayn can say anything back, though Zayn can’t think of a response. Harry’s very angry with him, and it’s a bit confusing honestly. Zayn can’t remember Harry ever being mad at him before. But Louis is moving in front of Zayn protectively, distracting Zayn. “Leave him alone. He thinks it’s two years ago, ya? Bugger off.”

  
“So he’s just allowed to hurt Liam like that because he can’t remember? I get that it’s hard for him, Louis, but it’s just as hard for Liam,” Harry snaps back, eyes glowing with anger, and Zayn shrinks back again.

  
“I know it’s hard for Liam too,” Louis bites out, blue eyes going cold as he narrows his eyes at Harry. “But Zayn didn’t say that to intentionally hurt him –”

  
“Oh, so if it’s not intentional, then it doesn’t count?” Harry snorts out, sarcasm sounding foreign on his tongue.

  
Louis snaps his mouth shut, teeth making an almost audible grinding sound as he glares at Harry, and Zayn gets the distinct impression that this isn’t actually about him and Liam. Looking at the tension between Louis and Harry, it’s obvious that this is an argument they’ve had many times, and that Zayn and Liam are just the most current occurrence. It makes that strain between them – the one that’s only grown in the two years that Zayn doesn’t remember – all the more obvious.

  
That revelation does nothing to ease the knot his stomach has become though. Liam’s face keeps flashing in his mind, that frozen mask. It did nothing to hide the hurt in his eyes though, the discomfort there, and Zayn feels like crying from the frustration. It’s all so fucked up. His mind is telling him that Liam’s still his boyfriend, and Zayn can’t react fast enough to counteract that impulse, and it’s clearly making Liam uncomfortable around him. And the sick thing is that Zayn can’t even blame Liam for that. Zayn would be uncomfortable too, if he had broken up with Liam and then Liam had thought they were still dating.

  
“It was the citrus,” he mumbles without thinking, desperate to pull away from his own thoughts.

  
Luckily, Niall hears him, and shatters the stare down between Louis and Harry by moving closer to Zayn’s bed. “What?” he questions in a loud voice that’s nevertheless kind.

  
Zayn coughs, eyes suddenly watering because he feels like a fucking idiot, but he clarifies. “I could smell his body wash, that citrus scent y’know? I- it just threw me off.”

  
Silence, again, and Zayn’s really beginning to hate how often his life dissolves into awkward silence these days. His hands are trembling where they rest against his legs, so dark against the white of the hospital sheet, and he kind of wants to cry, but he won’t. Zayn doesn’t like to cry in front of people, has only really cried in front of Liam out of everyone in the band. But clearly, he doesn’t do that anymore. Judging from the anger in Liam’s eyes, Zayn doesn’t even really talk to Liam anymore.

  
“They say scent is heavily connected to memory,” Harry says finally. When Zayn glances at him, Harry’s looking back, all the anger gone. He looks a bit sorry, actually, and Zayn knows that he’s offering the senseless fact as a sort of apology. Zayn accepts it with a small smile.

  
“Maybe we’ll bring some stuff back,” Louis jokes, nudging Zayn’s foot with his knee. “Try to jog your memory with random smells, ya?”

  
Zayn shrugs, but latches onto Louis’s word choice. “Back?” he echoes, confused.

  
“Oh, right,” Niall interrupts, grin spreading over his face. “We came to tell you we were leaving. Heading to that performance, right? Didn’t want you to wake up with all of us gone.”

  
Zayn remembers, then, that the boys are performing today, for the Today Show, and that they have an interview after. His stomach twists into knots, but he tries not to show that. It isn’t their fault that he can’t go. “Right,” he nods quickly, forcing a smile onto his face. “Smash it, ya?”

  
“Ya,” all three boys reply, smiles breaking out over their faces, relief clearly rounding their shoulders.

  
“We’ll come back directly after,” Louis reassures him, that familiar manic grin on his face. “And then we’ll figure out how to fix your head.”  
Zayn nods again, his grin a bit more real this time.

  
The boys all file out. Harry first, followed by Louis, and then Niall, who throws over his shoulder, at the last moment, “It’s channel like fifteen or summat? If you want to watch, that is.”

  
“Sure,” Zayn calls easily, knowing that he probably won’t. Niall flashes one last grin, and then the door closes behind him.

  
Zayn flops back into his bed, arm thrown over his eyes. “Fuck,” he mutters once more, not only for what he did this morning, but also for the dream that he can suddenly remember. His stomach turns again, images of Liam’s stricken face embossed on his eyelids. “Fuck,” he repeats.

* * *

 

Zayn’s sitting on his hospital bed, freshly showered with his hair still dripping onto his shoulders, and he’s trying to convince himself not to watch the boys.

  
He knows that it will hurt to watch them perform without him. The very idea makes him squirm with guilt, because he should be there. Every piece of him is telling him that he should be with them. And it’s always like this, when one of them has to miss. Everything just feels off, but Zayn knows that watching won’t help. No, he’ll see how they are without him, and then that treacherous little voice in the back of his head will make him start to question whether the band actually needs him. He’ll listen to one of the boys covering his parts, and he’ll think that they definitely don’t need his voice, not with four other strong voices. It’s a desperate game that he hates to play, and Zayn knows he shouldn’t do it.

  
But unfortunately, Zayn’s run out of things to do to distract himself.

  
He’s already showered, and fielded a call from management. (Which had been more of the same unsurprisingly. We’ll handle this. Don’t say anything without asking us first. Listen to Paul. Don’t say anything. Don’t say anything. Don’t say anything.) And his mum just called yesterday, the conversation leaving him so drained as they both cried over the line because he wasn’t physically hurt, but he sure as hell wasn’t fine either, and he knows that he can’t do that again, not anytime soon.

  
So he’s already out of distractions by the time the boys are about to perform, and he knows that he’s going to watch.

  
He flips the TV on and finds the channel easily, hunkering down into his bed like it can protect him. When the boys come on screen – on an actual stage for fuck’s sake that’s way more massive than they had led Zayn to believe – Zayn sucks in a gasp of air. He wishes he could say it’s because it hurts to see them all without him, but it’s not. In reality, Zayn feels like he was just punched because Liam walks out first, and fuck, his confidence is rolling off of him, and the grin he wears is straight up charming.

  
It hits Zayn all over again, his love for this grinning boy, and he realizes that he hasn’t truly seen Liam, not like this, since he woke up. No, the only time he has even really been around Liam was right after he woke up, and that was when Liam broke the news. They haven’t spoken since, and Zayn suddenly just misses the sound of Liam’s voice, just as it echoes out of the TV.

  
“Hi, how is everybody doing today?” It’s Liam’s stage voice, deep and proud and giddy. Familiar, Zayn’s mind whispers, so familiar. He realized he loved Liam while onstage after all. Of course, Liam’s question prompts a loud scream from the crowd, and all four boys grin.

  
“Right,” Liam laughs. “Well, we are Liam, Harry, Louis, and Niall. Unfortunately, we can’t introduce ourselves as One Direction today, because we aren’t One Direction without Zayn, who can’t be here because he’s terribly sick at the moment.”

  
Zayn’s eyes slide shut and his breath hitches, loudly. The pain honestly shouldn’t feel new by this point, but it comes in waves, washing over him like he decided to lay down on the sand and let the ocean swallow him.

  
He had forgotten that Liam did that, refused to introduce the band as One Direction if one of them was missing. The first time he had done it, when Zayn had gone home for his grandfather’s funeral, Zayn had been so damn thankful that he had called Liam immediately after. He could still remember Liam’s surprise at Zayn’s gratitude.

  
_“Of course, mate,” he had said, like it didn’t matter. “It’s just the truth. We aren’t us without you.”_

  
And Zayn’s heart had grown in his chest, he swore, at this ridiculous sweet boy who didn’t think anything of his own kindness. But Zayn’s surprised now, surprised that he still warrants this kindness. It’s sending mixed signals to his head, because Liam’s been distant from him, because Liam broke up with him, because Liam doesn’t love him anymore. But Liam’s still kind.

  
He tunes back into the broadcast halfway through their first song, and of course, he doesn’t recognize it. He’s surprised by the sound of it though, definitely different than the stuff he remembers singing. It takes him awhile to pinpoint who is covering for him because he doesn’t actually know which parts are his, but it isn’t hard to figure out. Liam’s singing more than the others. Liam’s hitting notes that used to be out of his range. Liam’s doing that power note that they always seem to give Zayn or Harry. Liam’s covering his parts.

  
Another wave of pain covers Zayn, and he scrunches further into his bed, sheet coming up like a physical barrier. Fuck, he knew this would hurt.

  
He watches all of it though, every second of their performance, and they’re great. Really, just brilliant. Zayn can tell how much they’ve grown in the past two years, and the differences are so noticeable. That disconnect is back between him and his life, like it’s a stranger, a story he read once, not actually his life.

  
The crowd screams, and Zayn watches as the boys walk over to be interviewed, all of them still grinning like they just can’t stop. He knows that feeling, can feel the ghost of it tipping up the corners of his mouth, but it’s so very far away from him in this hospital room. Zayn feels so distant from not only them but from everything as they all sit down.

  
The interviewer, a guy Zayn actually vaguely recognizes, begins with the normal questions: how are you, what are you guys doing, excited about the new album, so on and so on. Even for Zayn, interviews had become standard, easy as breathing, because they were all generally about the same thing.

  
He isn’t really surprised then, when the interviewer broaches the subject of his absence. They always have to ask, don’t they? He is surprised, however, by the approach that this guy takes.

  
Zayn doesn’t catch the exact wording, can’t focus well enough to, but he does catch the drift, and it makes him flinch. The interviewer just implied that Zayn has a drug problem.

  
Before he can even figure out how he feels about that, before he can even think, Zayn’s eyes snag on Liam’s face, captivated even though he hasn’t really looked away from Liam this entire time. It’s just, well, Liam’s fucking pissed.

  
Zayn sits up straighter, surprised, even as Liam’s answering, “No of course not. He’s just sick,” the words attempting to sound calm and sure, but that underlying anger is dangerously close to the surface. Zayn takes in Liam’s eyes, dark and crackling, his spine, so stiff it looks painful, and the way he had clipped his words with irritation. Liam is angry, no, beyond that. Liam is livid that the interviewer implied Zayn has a drug addiction, and he’s doing a shoddy job of hiding it. Harry notices instantly and drags the interviewer’s attention away, and it’s a good thing too, because Liam’s anger isn’t exactly fading.

  
It reminds him, instantly, of Liam’s protective edge toward all the boys, but especially towards him. The fans always assume that Liam’s the one who can’t take criticism or bad press, because of his past with bullying, because of his happy attitude, fuck probably because of those huge, brown eyes, but Liam’s actually the best at it. Out of all of the boys, Liam takes the negative comments easily, rolling with them in a way that not even Zayn can, but only those comments aimed at him. What Liam could never handle were the comments about the other boys, and it only got worse when Zayn and Liam started dating.

  
Zayn’s mind drifts back to a dozen memories of lying in bed with Liam, but in particular the last instance comes forward.

  
_Lying on Liam’s bare chest, Zayn traces his fingers over Liam’s warm skin, burying his face against Liam’s side as though he can hide there._

  
_“It’s stupid, Zayn,” Liam mutters, voice walking the edge between anger and hurt. “So stupid. Don’t listen to them.”_

  
_Zayn lets out a choked giggle, because he knows he shouldn’t. He knows, like they all know by now, but he can’t help how the words hurt. It’s just, the attacks are so much more personal towards him, and he sounds selfish, saying that, but none of the boys would argue. The other boys deal with names like flirt, cheater, player, which all hurt, but Zayn gets one even worse: terrorist. It’s stupid, and he knows it. Of course he does. Zayn isn’t a stranger to ignorance about his religion, but it still hurts. It will always hurt._

  
_Liam sighs, hand coming up to tangle in Zayn’s hair as he bends his head and presses his lips against Zayn’s forehead. Zayn sighs into it, relaxing immediately, because it’s Liam, who loves him. “They’re all idiots,” he mutters against Zayn’s skin, sounding desperate to make Zayn believe him._

  
_So Zayn nods and agrees, because they are idiots, and because he can’t stand to see Liam worrying over him, but the words stick to his skin. They always do. Liam seems to understand that though, because without prompting, his fingers begin to trace other words over Zayn’s skin, words that make Zayn laugh, because Liam’s so cheesy. Liam laughs as Zayn playfully nuzzles into his side, and the warm room surrounds them in comforting silence._

  
Liam did that for Zayn more times than Zayn can count, taking the hurtful words and replacing them with his own, and Zayn suddenly wonders if Liam still does that. Does Liam still comfort him when the words hit just a bit too hard? Before, he would have said no. Absolutely not. Liam hasn’t come anywhere near him since he woke up; there’s no way Liam comforts him like that. But now, looking at Liam’s slowly fading anger, Zayn wonders.

  
He ticks off incongruences in his head as he watches the boys. Liam refused to introduce them as One Direction. Liam took over Zayn’s parts. Liam was pissed that they were bashing Zayn. It’s all telling Zayn one thing: that Liam still cares. Liam so obviously cares, is doing nothing to hide that fact, and _Zayn just doesn’t get it._

  
Why? Why, if Liam cares, is he so desperate to stay away from Zayn? Why can’t he stand to even look at him? Zayn is missing so much, literally years of interactions with Liam, and it is a physical ache now, just below his heart in his chest. He needs answers, not half-answers and shrugs from the boys, but actual answers from Liam.

  
He, just, he needs to talk to Liam.

* * *

 

The next two hours pass distressingly slow. Zayn fidgets in his bed from the moment he clicks off the interview – somehow unable to watch the boys navigate it without him – and he can’t calm himself. He’s buzzing with nerves because he wants to speak with Liam. He’s desperate to talk to Liam, just Liam, but he can’t. He has to wait until the interview is over and then he has to wait for them to make their way back to the hospital.

  
He tells himself to relax, to take a nap or something, but he can’t. Zayn’s always had trouble calming down; it’s one of the reasons he picked up smoking, but he can’t smoke now. Hospitals don’t allow it, and Zayn isn’t allowed outside; Paul was very explicit about that.

  
Zayn’s eyes roam around the hospital room, his fingers picking at the edge of his bed sheet, and he catches sight of Niall’s laptop. He had left it with a caustic, _here mate just in case you want to look something up_ , and Zayn had laughed, because there was no way in hell he was going to do that. The other boys would look at stuff sometimes, just for the hell of it, but Zayn had sworn it off. It was too weird.

  
But now...

  
The laptop is in his lap five seconds later, booted up and on Google, and Zayn just starts watching interviews. He doesn’t trust articles, is terrified of Tumblr, doesn’t want to check his twitter, but interviews are genuine. He can actually see the memories he is missing.

  
It’s jarring at first, watching himself on screen, always is, but this time is worse of course. He doesn’t have the memories that go along with these clips, can’t tell why he smirks at that one question, what thoughts were racing through his head as he paused to answer. He’s so focused on himself, analyzing every little twitch, that he doesn’t notice the obvious differences right away, but then he does, and it sends a pang of guilt through his stomach.

  
They aren’t the same.

  
He knew, in a detached way, that they wouldn’t be, but he didn’t actually think about what that meant. To an outsider it probably isn’t even that noticeable, but to him, it’s everything. It’s the way he and Liam stop sitting by each other. It’s the way Louis and Harry are always distant. It’s the way none of them really touch each other, not as much as they used to. It’s the way Niall sometimes looks so distracted. It’s everything.

  
They’re all so distant, and it kills Zayn because it’s definitely at least partially his fault. That space between him and Liam – the literal feet between their bodies – is because of their break up, no question about it. Even without knowing the details, without having the memory of Liam breaking up with him, Zayn knows that he put that distance between them. He knows himself, even with two years of missing growth, and he knows that he wouldn’t be able to handle the hurt by shifting into friendship, something he knows Liam probably wanted. He couldn’t have done it, pretended that he was alright while his heart broke. So, no, that space between him and Liam, it’s definitely his doing, and it affected the entire band.

  
He closes Niall’s laptop without exiting out of the browser or clearing the history, because he honestly doesn’t give a shit if Niall finds out he looked up old interviews, but he knows that it was a mistake. The interviews didn’t calm him down, like he was hoping; no, instead that restless feeling is somehow worse. He’s almost frantic with anticipation now, just wanting to find out answers. He just needs to know, finally, what happened. Obviously, he can’t figure out every moment from the past two years, but he can figure out the major thing, the one that’s pushing him off center even now. If he finds out what happened with Liam, if he can just talk to Liam, look him in the eye, then he’ll feel better. He knows he will.

  
He’s pacing when they finally come back, all that nervous energy needing somewhere to go.

  
“Zee,” Louis exclaims, his eyes lit up with playful mischief as he flings an arm around Niall’s neck, following him into the room. “Are you meant to be out of bed?”

  
“I’ve lost my memory, not a limb, Lou,” Zayn shoots back, trying to mimic Louis’s tone. Apparently, he succeeds, because Louis’s grin widens.

  
“You’ve found your sarcasm again, cheers.”

  
“Ya, I’ve definitely missed that,” Niall grumbles, shoving Louis away from him and rubbing at his shoulders. Harry walks through the door and instantly places himself between Louis and Niall, stopping Niall from retaliating to Louis’s rough handling.

  
“Did you watch?” Harry asks in that slow voice of his, deep without intention.

  
“Ya, actually,” Zayn answers, just as Liam walks in. He had meant to elaborate, to congratulate the boys, but his words dry up when he sees Liam.

  
His head is down, eyes cast away, and he leans immediately against the wall when the door closes, like he doesn’t really want to be here. He’s dressed as he was when they performed, a look that’s only slightly different than his old one, and it’s almost comforting. His arms fold over his chest, and Zayn can’t help but notice the added bulk there, the way his t-shirt clings to his skin, the way his jeans wrap around his legs, and shit, he looks good. Liam looks great, and Zayn’s suddenly very conscious of the hospital clothes he’s still in, the mess of tangles that his hair is, the way he hasn’t really looked in a mirror since the night before.

  
“What’d you think?” Louis asks, voice still loud and happy, like a child’s.

  
Zayn peels his eyes away from Liam with difficulty, rubbing a hand through his shaggy hair. “It was great,” he admits with a slight grin. “The new stuff, it sounds good.”

 

Niall lights up. “Ya? Well, you should like it, since we mostly wrote it.”

  
“Really?”

  
“Sure,” Niall shrugs, as Louis and Harry nod along. “Though it was mostly Louis and Liam honestly.”

  
Liam’s head snaps up at his name, and he probably meant to look at Niall, but Zayn had been staring at him, unintentionally. So when Liam’s eyes focus, they hook on Zayn’s own gaze, and then stop, widening in surprise. Zayn gulps, loudly, because shit, he hadn’t meant to get caught staring at Liam like that, and Liam’s eyes are killing him. That familiar brown shade is always so warm, and now isn’t any different, even as Liam chews on his lip in uncertainty.

  
“It sounded good,” Zayn manages to say, voice low and hesitant. The words were meant for everyone, but they come out sounding like he meant them just for Liam.

  
Liam nods slowly, hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck in a gesture so familiar that Zayn sucks in a breath of air. “Thanks,” Liam mutters, not dropping eye contact.

  
It’s the first time Liam has spoken to him since Zayn freaked out, and that last moment between them is sitting heavily in the air. Zayn can’t help but wonder what Liam thinks about it, if he feels guilty, if he feels disgusted by Zayn’s lack of control, his obvious hurt. He’s never been this uncertain in Liam’s presence before, not even when they met in that freaking McDonald’s. The relationship between them has always been as easy as breathing, but Zayn suddenly can’t breathe at all.

  
“Can I talk to you?” his voice dips across the room, so quiet and hesitant, and Zayn hates it. He hates that he sounds insecure, afraid, but he can’t help it. He’s terrified that Liam’s going to run again, has flashes of him doing so twice already. He’s not sure he could survive Liam leaving him a third time already, just walking away. They never used to walk away from each other.

  
Liam sucks in a gasp of air, brown eyes wide with surprise as he bites down on his bottom lip so hard it turns white. “I-”

  
“That’s probably not-” Harry begins at the same time.

  
“Yes,” Louis and Niall blurt out, drowning out both Liam and Harry, the latter of which turns to glare at Louis. Niall throws his arm around Louis, earlier rough housing easily forgotten as they clearly band together against Harry.

  
“Come on, Haz,” Niall begs, blue eyes earnest. “They need to talk.” Louis nods along sagely, glancing between Zayn and Liam, but Harry still looks uncertain. He turns to Liam, asking him something silently, and Zayn feels an irrational surge of jealousy that he quickly tries to hammer down. Liam would need someone within the band to lean on, and Harry’s a good choice, even if Zayn honestly thought it would have been Louis.

  
Zayn’s about to speak up, tell them to forget it, because he hates that they’re all deciding like he isn’t standing right there, but then Liam nods, and Zayn’s mouth goes dry again.

  
“Sure,” he agrees quietly, shrugging his arms out of their crossed position, like he’s trying to relax himself. His brown eyes are still focused on Zayn’s face, measuring him in a way that isn’t unfamiliar.

  
“Liam-”

  
“Harry,” Louis snaps, grabbing Harry’s wrist and tugging. Harry freezes up instantly, like he’s not used to Louis touching him anymore. He flexes his arm tightly, and Louis lets go. “Just let them talk. They’re going to have to.”

  
Harry sighs, green eyes wide and worried as he glances between Zayn and Liam, but he nods once. Zayn tries not to hold it against Harry, knowing that he’s just worried about them both, but he’s finding it hard. He’s finding everything hard, like breathing, as the other three boys leave.

  
The door closes, and Zayn barely manages not to flinch as he drops his eyes from Liam’s face. He has to remind himself that he wanted this, wanted to be alone with Liam, as the silence wraps around them both. He realizes belatedly that he didn’t plan ahead though, didn’t think about what he’d say once he was alone with Liam. He just did it; impulsive, Liam used to always say it with a grin as he ran fingers through Zayn’s hair.

  
Liam coughs, shifting unevenly on his feet in the corner of Zayn’s vision, and he’s moved a bit away from the wall. They’re both standing towards the center of the room, stars untethered to the space around them, and Zayn feels like Liam’s got his own gravitational pull, like a sun. He’s always felt that with Liam, though, and before he would have just drifted closer, until some part of their bodies were touching, but now, he’s not sure if they do that anymore. Do they touch?

  
“Do we touch?” he’s blurting out before he can reword the fragmented thoughts in his head. He flushes, hard, when he meets Liam’s eyes, wide with surprise.

  
“I – what?” Liam demands, voice going high with his shock. His cheeks flush as he meets Zayn’s eyes, just a slash of color high on his cheekbones that Zayn used to trace with a laugh whenever he managed to make Liam blush.

  
It was just one of thousands of ways they used to touch daily, and Zayn’s suddenly not sorry that he asked, because he burns with the desire to touch Liam again. “Do we touch?” he repeats, calmer now, “Like do we ever touch anymore, at all? We all used to touch all the time, but I noticed that Harry and Louis...” he trails off, shrugging.

  
Liam shrugs, uncomfortable once again. “Harry and Louis don’t touch anymore, not unless it’d be weird if they didn’t, like in front of cameras and stuff. Louis’s still himself though, always touching somebody, and Niall’s the same.”

  
His silence on the original question gives Zayn all the answer he needs, and he lets out a lungful of air that stings his throat. “But we don’t anymore,” he guesses. “You and I, we’re like Harry and Louis. Do we even touch onstage or in interviews?” He doesn’t mean to sound desperate as he asks that last part, but he is. He can’t imagine never touching Liam again. Soft skin over hard muscle, hair bristles that tickled his palm, soft lips against his rough ones.

  
“Onstage, ya,” Liam answers slowly, eyes focused on the floor as he thinks about it, eyebrows wrinkling in concentration, and Zayn wants to reach out and trace his eyebrow, the way he used to. Except, Zayn’s just been informed, they don’t do that anymore, and judging by the way Liam’s having to think about it, they don’t really touch anymore at all. “We still play around onstage,” Liam admits, “and sometimes it’s almost the same. In interviews, we usually sit apart though so...”

  
Zayn nods, to let Liam off the hook for that dangling sentence that clearly has no destination. He tries not to think about the way Liam’s voice had sounded as he said ‘it’s almost the same,’ not only because he knows what Liam means by that, but also because he doesn’t believe him. The way they’re standing now is all the proof that Zayn needs: nothing is like it used to be.

  
He swore, when he asked for this private audience with Liam, that he had a million actual questions, but they’re all gone now. The dead air in the room consumes everything, and Zayn’s always hated awkward conversations, needing to fill that silence with something.

  
“Do we talk?” he asks, slowly making his way over to his bed because he doesn’t feel like he can stand anymore. He perches on the edge of it, looking up at Liam, who moves unconsciously forward.

  
“Sometimes,” Liam answers, hand running through his hair in a habit that Zayn just knows he taught Liam. “It’s kind of unavoidable, really, with the tours and stuff. So, we all hang out together, and we talk then. We... it’s not mean between us. It’s not like we insult each other, or anything. We’re always polite, and we, when we do actually talk, it’s usually about the music or something, so that’s like it’s always been.”

  
Zayn tries not to let his face show how every word feels like a million needles pressing into his skin, like he’s getting a dark tattoo of hurt over his entire body, but he’s not sure if he’s successful or not. Liam isn’t watching his face anymore, preferring to look at the ground as his hands flex by his sides from a meter away. He wants to argue, wants to say that he bets it isn’t like it’s always been, not at all, because even when he and Liam discussed the songs or the performances, they were always wrapped up in each other. He suddenly hates that Liam actually used the word polite to describe their interactions, wants to laugh bitterly because polite is what they are to annoying reporters, not what they are to each other.

  
But Zayn can’t do any of that, or say what’s on his mind, because the air between them is choking him in a way he doesn’t understand. Words have always come easily to Zayn, and words directed at Liam were so natural that Zayn had lost his filter long ago between his thoughts and his words. Now, though, Zayn has to think about what he’s going to say, the pauses like shouts – broken, broken, broken, they say into the spaces between Zayn and Liam.

  
So, finally, he lets out a desperate chuckle that barely lasts a second, but he needs it. He needs it to break up the dead air between them, because this is terrible, but it’s happening. Liam is talking to him, actually talking, and he’s desperate to keep it up. “Right, so every interaction is as bad as this one then?”

  
Liam’s eyes skate past his as he also laughs breathily, and Zayn relaxes just a bit, because fuck, at least Liam’s laughing. Humor was always Zayn’s last resort, not a natural comic like Louis or even Niall, but Liam grabs onto it with both hands. “Ya,” he admits, looking the smallest bit guilty, like it’s his fault that they can’t interact anymore.

  
And Zayn shouldn’t have thought about that, whose fault it is, because it’s making him think about it again, their break up. He blames himself for the awkwardness between them, because he knows that he’s the one who wouldn’t try to fix that. Liam can’t help but fix everything, and there’s no way he would have left it this tense between them, but Zayn, he holds a grudge. He puts distance there, walls going up and shutters coming down, because he avoids whatever makes him overly emotional. So it’s Zayn’s fault that they’re this distant, but a dark part of his mind whispers that everything else is Liam’s fault.

  
Everything.

  
The way that Zayn feels like he can’t even stand, because the world doesn’t feel steady beneath him, that’s Liam’s fault. The way that Zayn can’t even breathe sometimes, because the air feels too thick, that’s Liam’s fault. And the way Zayn feels like he’s covered in one, large, aching bruise, that’s Liam’s fault, because _Liam broke up with him._

  
He’s been trying not to think about it, to push it away, because fuck it hurts. The complete knowledge that Liam decided he didn’t want Zayn anymore is killing him, because Zayn always feared it, didn’t he? He was always terrified that Liam would stop wanting him one day, but he never said anything about it, because Liam was the one who had made the first move. Liam was the one who had risked everything, while Zayn had remained a coward, and he had no right to worry about Liam leaving him. Except, clearly, he did have a right, because that’s what happened. Liam left him.

  
_Don’t_ , he tells himself harshly, knees coming up to his chest automatically as he feels himself beginning to shake. _Stop thinking about it. Don’t._ He can’t think about it, because every time he does, he feels like he’s shaking apart, veins splitting at the seams, which makes a twisted kind of sense, because Liam was the one who always kept him together. Right up until Liam clearly decided that he didn’t want that job anymore.

  
A low noise escapes Zayn’s throat as he loosely wraps his arms around his legs, folding himself up tighter to try to block out his own thoughts. His chest hurts, and his throat hurts, and he just knows that he wants to cry.

  
“Zayn,” Liam’s voice comes out strangled with worry, and Zayn can almost picture Liam reaching out to touch his shoulder.

  
He flinches back, unwilling to let Liam touch him when five minutes ago that was all he wanted. “Why did you break up with me?” he asks his knees, because he can’t possibly ask Liam. No, asking why is something only broken people do, and Zayn might be one of those broken idiots now, but Liam doesn’t need to know that. His pride has always been his downfall, and he just knows it played into this breakup somehow, but he’s swallowing it now, unable to help it.

  
“What?”

  
“Why did you break up with me?”

  
Silence.  
Silence.  
Silence.

  
And then the anger’s there, and Zayn really shouldn’t be surprised, not at all. He’s always had a temper, always, but it hardly ever rose in him around Liam because Liam’s the calm that he needs, but his temper is there now. His anger isn’t red or burning, no, it’s black and icy and cutting, cruel on his tongue and cold in his eyes. Zayn tries to hold it back, curls his tongue like he can physically keep it in his throat, but it doesn’t work, and he’s glaring at Liam without a thought (he notices, absently, that Liam looks like he did that one time they were ambushed by a crowd, frozen and surprised and not at all prepared) and he’s spitting, “Why did you break up with me?”

  
Liam flinches, hard, like Zayn does, and it burns in his stomach like he’s thrown up everything there but his body still wants to heave. Fuck, he forgot how he and Liam merged until they were a collage of habits and mannerisms, every cliché of every terrible couple in every movie and Zayn fucking loved it, but he hates it now. He hates seeing pieces of himself in Liam, knowing there are pieces of Liam in him, cutting him from the inside out with the jagged edges left by his blank memory and the break up that was clearly never closed.

  
“I –” Liam cuts himself off with a laugh that’s hysterical. “Fuck.” His brown eyes turn watery between one blink and the next, and his lips are turned up in a smile that looks painful. His nostrils flare, like he can’t breathe, the way they do when he has to reach for that last song lyric onstage, and Zayn’s never seen Liam struggle for air offstage.

  
It deflates his anger so quickly that Zayn feels like a papier-mâché mask, the balloon popped too soon so that the wet newspaper caves in before it can form. He caves.

  
“Don’t.” It’s a gasp of a word, hardly any sound at all, but Liam catches it.  
“Zayn –”

  
“No,” he begs, hands convulsing at his sides because he wants to clap his hands over his ears, like he did when he was young and his mother was telling him he had to do something he didn’t want to. “No, please, don’t. I can’t. Please don’t tell me why you broke up with me. I thought I wanted – but fuck, no. We broke up. I – it’ll pass. I don’t need – you don’t have to tell me anything. The memories will come back I’m sure, and I really can’t – just don’t worry about it.”

  
Liam looks like he’s choking on the serrated edges of Zayn’s halted sentences. “Jesus,” he mutters, voice rough and broken. “Zayn, we should –”

  
Zayn’s hand snaps up to halt that sentence because he’s terrified of its ending. His heart pounds with the worry that he’s going to hear the echo of Liam’s voice saying We should talk or We should break up because he’s seen the movies, he knows the scripted lines of that break up, but he refuses to hear them again.

  
“Talk,” Liam finishes stubbornly, mouth forming a circle as he sucks in a loud breath of air.

  
_Li, I need to talk to you._

  
Zayn’s own voice echoes in his ears, and he feels his own confusion, because his voice hasn’t sounded that hollow in years, not since his granddad died and he was hiding his emotions the way fear had taught him to. Liam broke him of that habit, so why does he feel like he put those barriers back up? Like those barriers have been up for so long that Liam didn’t even try to break them down? It’s an itch in his head, and it almost hurts.

  
“I just –”

  
“Please.”

  
It’s a cry for help that Zayn never lets himself utter, but he does with Liam. Or he did. And he does now, again, because he’s desperate. He’s so fucking desperate; it’s all he’s felt for days. He needs a thesaurus to erase that word from his tongue, memorize a new bitter taste for a word that sounds prettier, less patronizing. His head remains buried in his knees, now, because he knows what a mistake it is to look at Liam, and he’s going to cry. He cries easily, always has, and knows he always will, but he won’t do it in front of Liam. Not now.

  
“Just please don’t Liam. We don’t need to talk about it. I don’t want to talk about it. Just, we can go back to how it’s been okay? I’ll get used to it.”

  
He won’t. Zayn won’t get used to it, not for months, shit not for years. But clearly, he pretended before that he was, because Liam expected him to be when he woke up. So he can do it again.

  
“Whatever you want, Zayn,” Liam imitates Zayn’s dead tone with such clarity that Zayn automatically looks up, brow furrowing. The tone, and Liam’s voice, it surprises Zayn because it’s so familiar. It’s the mask, the one Zayn uses far too often, but he can’t believe it’s on Liam’s face right now. Liam’s never hidden his emotions, open book and all that, but he is now. And he’s damn good at it, too.

  
His eyes meet Zayn’s, but it’s like he’s dead behind them. Lifeless eyes, like a baby doll’s, those are what glance at Zayn, as Liam repeats, “Always, whatever you want.”

  
_I always give you whatever you want, Zayn. Whatever you want, no matter what._

  
The words hurt, physically hurt in his burdened brain, and Zayn feels his face contort at the phantom pain, because fuck, that’s new. It’s new, and it’s not even real, but it hurts like nothing else ever has, not even his heartbreak. He wants to call out to Liam, to tell him to wait, pause, just hold on a second because he’s about to tip over into something, but Liam’s already out the door, shoulders straight and pace evenly set, like he refuses to literally run away.

  
But Liam is running away.

  
And it makes no sense, because Zayn’s always been the one who runs. He can’t help but wonder, did that change when Liam ended their relationship? Or did it change before that? How long has Liam been running away from him? And how long did it take Zayn to realize it?


	2. Part II: In the World Again

  He tells himself not to do it, but he’s slowly realizing that doesn’t matter. His impulse control is shit, and he’s emotionally empty, like a dried up well that no one thought to fill

in after they were done with it. He knows he shouldn’t do it, but he’s dying for some answers, and he knows that she’ll have them.

            So Zayn calls Perrie.

            The ringing of his phone is so loud in his ears, like he’s overly sensitive to it. He feels like a bomb just exploded in his hospital room, like there should be wreckage surrounding his pristine bed. He feels like the victim of an explosion, raw and bleeding from too many places to count, and he knows that he shouldn’t call Perrie.

            The phone rings, long and shrill and loud in his ear.

            He shouldn’t call Perrie, but the boys haven’t come back. Liam left, leaving a crater behind in Zayn’s mind, and the boys didn’t swoop in to cover it. Like a missing tooth, the empty spot just aches, and he knows that Perrie won’t fill it, obviously couldn’t fill it before, but he’s calling her anyway.

            Another long ring echoes through the phone’s speakers.

            He doesn’t understand why the boys didn’t come back in. Just like Harry’s bipolar behavior towards Zayn, it doesn’t make sense. He’s the one who’s hurting, who’s devastated, but he knows (the way they always just know when it concerns one of the others) that the boys are with Liam right now. Their absence yells vulgarity at him, condemnation that he doesn’t understand, and Perrie’s voice won’t fix that. But he doesn’t hang up.

            The same loud tone rings again.

            He just needs an explanation. He tried to get one from Liam, but then he couldn’t go through with it. There’s so much he needs to just understand, and so little that he can do to fix it. He can’t fix his memory. He clearly can’t fix the situation with Liam, but he can fix this. He can get answers from Perrie; he can understand this break up at least.

            The ring doesn’t come again, instead her voice cracks through the speakers.

            “Zayn.”

            His hesitation is two-fold. First, the voice sends a shock of something familiar and unpleasant through him, like he’s guilty for calling her, his stomach churning with it. Second, because the voice itself is familiar, careening through the caverns in his mind, just briefly illuminating the scooped out sides of memories that once were and could be again.

            “Perrie,” he answers, the name flowing off his tongue in a practiced movement and he wonders how many times he has said her name. They dated for years; it has to be over a million right?

            (Of course, then he wonders how many times he has said Liam’s name. Moaned it. Gasped it. Whined it as Liam buried himself deep in Zayn, always hitting his prostate at just the right angle to force Zayn into a quivering mess that he could never hate because he craved it. And Liam’s name always fell from his mouth like a prayer those times when Liam took him while looking into his eyes, Zayn’s cock trapped between them and oversensitive from the excruciatingly slow pace that Liam loved in their own beds at home, when they had time, wrapped up in sheets that spoke of a purity Zayn always attributed to their relationship. And he knows that however many times he’s said Perrie’s name, he never said her name like he said Liam’s.)

            He rips himself away from the cloying scent of Liam’s sweaty skin that lingers in his nose like he fucked him two minutes not two years ago, and forces himself to speak. “Where are you?”

            It speaks volumes to her, he’s sure, that he clearly hasn’t obtained this information from somebody else, that he hasn’t asked about her.

            She doesn’t sound surprised by the question, low voice almost amused when she answers, “With the girls. I know Little Mix isn’t quite as popular as One Direction, but I do have things to do. Promotion. An album. Live shows. Interviews.”

            And just like that, Zayn remembers Perrie. Or at least glimpses of her – laughing over a small table in what smells like a coffee shop, mocking him with that raised eyebrow that almost mirrors his own skeptical look, always so amused, so charming, so easy. He’s flooded with an overall feeling of just, ease, like he can relax into someone like him, but chilled out.

            And he gets it, or he thinks he does. How that feeling, like he doesn’t even have to try, could become addictive, enticing, something to just let happen. He knows without asking that he just went with the relationship, that Perrie was always in charge, and it doesn’t sound like a bad relationship, but it’s not right either.

            No, right is the feeling he had with Liam, and he knows, now, that he never achieved that with Perrie. He knows it implicitly without the need of memories to back up his gut feeling.

            “You told Harry that we broke up,” he copies her teasing tone easily, taking his cues from her in a practiced move that feels eerily familiar. Muscle memory, he thinks, but different, like he memorized a character for a play and can still recall him.

            “Good thing, too,” she shoots back, unapologetic, “or else no one would know since you didn’t tell your mates. Thought you told the boys everything?”

            “Apparently not anymore.”

            She hums, not like she agrees or disagrees, but like she accepts his pathetic answer, and another piece of their relationship clicks into place.

            “I was a shit boyfriend, wasn’t I?”

            Perrie laughs, actually laughs, and that laugh is familiar, another snatch of audio memory that Zayn files away. “That’s what the girls always said, ya. I don’t know, Z; it was fine.”

            “But not good enough,” he guesses, remembering the actual concrete memories he has of Perrie from before his memory disappears. He did like her, the few times he met up with her. She was very commanding, a presence that could fill a room without feeling oppressive, and that laugh, it was cute. He’d thought they could be friends.

            “So, you really don’t remember?”

            “No.” Snatches of half-remembered noises and sentences don’t count, and Zayn’s not even sure they’re real, since he has no one to ask.

            “Good.”

            “Good?” he can’t keep the note of incredulousness out of his voice, because fuck, he must’ve been brutal if she thinks memory loss is good.

            “Shit, sorry,” Perrie blurts out quickly, sounding guilty, “I just meant – Like damn it Zayn, I just meant that maybe it’s good that you don’t remember us. Me and you, y’know?”

            “So we were real then?” He knows they were, knows it like he knows he and Liam are broken up, but still, he’d like to hear her say it.

            Perrie snorts though, “Never did figure that out for myself actually.”

            “Perrie?”

            “Sorry,” she says automatically. “I know that’s not helpful.”

            “Pretty fucking unhelpful actually.”

            “Look, Zayn, did we really date? Yes, we did. You really proposed, and I really said yes, so yes we were together, but we aren’t now. I broke up with you, so you don’t need to do this.”

            “You broke up with me?”

            Another snort. “Did you think you dumped me?”

            No, or at least, not consciously. To be perfectly honest, Zayn hadn’t really considered who had broken up with whom. “Why’d you do it? I mean, we were mates first, ya? When we were pretending to be together publicly, there’s no way we weren’t mates.”

            “We were,” Perrie allows. “And then we were more, and I won’t lie, Zayn, that’s mostly because of me, but it’s complicated. I can’t just explain it all to you in five minutes.”

            “Right, sorry.”

            He lets the silence empty out between them, unsure how he should broach it. Should he ask how she’s doing? She did come all the way out here, to America, to see him when he ended up in hospital.

            A long sigh gusts out of the speakers, and that’s almost familiar as well, as though he often exasperated Perrie while they were together. “We broke up because of Liam.”

            He chokes on his attempted repetition of the name.

            “It was messy; I’m sure you’ve figured that out by now. You weren’t right about it, and then you were always around him still, and we were struggling about it. So, I just, I gave up. The fight wasn’t worth it anymore.”

            He’s always appreciated this about Perrie, how unfailingly blunt she is. The words are clearly just fragments of an entire speech, probably the one she gave when she left him, but he gets it. He can hear the unspoken words in between, and he knows suddenly, “I’m still in love with Liam. I was still in love with Liam while we were together.”

            “You never stopped loving him,” Perrie replies bitterly.

            He should apologize to her, but he can’t. He isn’t surprised, and he isn’t sorry. Loving Liam is a part of who he is, and he always knew it wasn’t going to fade out. Zayn just can’t believe that he proposed to Perrie when he was still obviously in love with someone else. It’s low, even for him at his worst, with his tattered heart barricaded behind walls. The boys used to accuse him of wearing his heart on his sleeve, which he did though he denied it, but he knows that over these past two years he’s hidden it away. He caged it in and pretended to let Perrie see apparently, but then she figured out that she didn’t really have his heart at all.

            And Christ, that was a shitty move on his part.

            “Well, I fucked it all up didn’t I?”

            Perrie lets out a relieved laugh. “Sorry, again. It isn’t exactly fair to take this out on you. Not like you even remember any of it. I should probably have stuck around and talked to you, but I couldn’t. Didn’t want to, honestly.”

            “Right,” he dismisses it because he gets it. He gets everything she isn’t saying, like how hurt she still is, and he understands why she didn’t stick around to talk to someone who doesn’t even know her. Someone she’s no longer with, and that makes him wonder. What do they do now?

“So what now?”

            “We were meant to go public with the break up soon,” Perrie muses, “but we’ll hold off on that for a bit, ya? I’ll tell management, and they’ll figure it all out. They’re in charge anyways.”

            Zayn grunts. “Mates, then?”

            Perrie laughs again. “Sure, Zayn.”

            But they won’t be, not for a while yet. Perrie’s act is good, nearly flawless even, but he knows it’s an act. You don’t agree to marry a lad if you don’t love him and you don’t dump him for being in love with someone else without it breaking your heart, but he doesn’t press it. He has no idea what he was thinking, getting into it with Perrie, but he’s genuinely sorry about it all looking at it from the outside as he is.

            “Right, speak to you later then, Pez.”

            She sucks in a sharp breath of air, but doesn’t address the nickname that feels far too familiar on his tongue. Zayn isn’t sure if he hangs up first, or if she does, but it’s pretty close.

            His cell phone falls into his lap with a dull thud, and he scrubs frustrated hands through his hair. He really shouldn’t have called her; it was cruel in a way that Zayn never thought he was. The answers weren’t even that helpful, honestly, so vague with a million thoughts going unsaid, not that he can blame Perrie for that. She’s got to be just as fucked up about this as he is, or more even.

            The door creaks open, and Zayn snaps his head up in surprise, but it isn’t one of the boys. Paul takes up the doorway, offering Zayn a short smile that’s utterly familiar.

            “Zayn.”

            “Paul,” he lets a relaxed smile curl his lips because Paul hasn’t changed, and he’s so glad that he’s still around.

            “Your mom?” Paul asks, nodding at the phone.

            “Perrie.”

            Paul lets it go. “Ready to leave this place?”

            Zayn lets out a long sigh. “Unbelievably so.”

 

* * *

 

            “It’ll be crazy,” Louis warns him as they stand in some back hallway of the hospital which looks a bit dingy, if Zayn’s being honest.

            It’s the next day, and the boys came back to the hospital with Paul to grab Zayn.

            “I do remember the fans, Louis,” Zayn assures him, amused that Louis has slipped into his mother-hen role so seamlessly. He figures it’s a combination of Louis being the oldest, his role with his sisters, and Louis’s own natural compassion, which he hides under layers of insanity and cutting wit.

            “Not like this, man,” Niall argues, bouncing on his feet like he’s gearing up for a run. His claustrophobia clearly has not left, then. “They found the hospital this morning, crowd’s been growing ever since. Management told them you were being treated for exhaustion.”

            “They still don’t know about your memory loss,” Harry interrupts, answering the unasked question like always. Zayn gives him a grateful nod, even though Harry’s been mostly silent since all the boys came round to grab him, like Harry’s angry with him again.

            And Harry’s quietness only pales in comparison to Liam’s complete silence, but Zayn’s refusing to address that right now.

            “Ready lads?” Paul breaks in, cracking the double door that leads outside. “Fans’re all out front. Hotel will be the tricky part.”

            They all nod easily, slipping into their public personas. It’s not that they act different in public, but they certainly can’t act normal. It’s like mental preparation, building up defenses between their relaxed thoughts and their working ones.

            When Paul nods in return and opens the door wider, Zayn’s surprised by the presence of Louis’s hand on his back, pushing him forward. Getting to the van isn’t bad; for once, Paul’s plan has worked, and there aren’t any fans. The van’s familiar too, just a plain white one that every country seems to have a surplus of strictly for this very reason.

            Inside, Liam Niall and Harry take the back, and Zayn refuses to linger on it. He and Liam didn’t even always ride next to each other when they were together, and the fact that Liam came with the others to get him has to count for something, ya?

            He throws himself into the seat, hunching down out of a habit. He’s wearing a pair of sweats that are too large (Liam’s, he’s sure, though he didn’t dare say anything about it) and a worn t-shirt he’s pretty sure he had before the X Factor. Louis shoved a beanie on his head and grinned as he tugged his own on, weirdly amused by it as Zayn rolled his eyes. The others are all still dressed partially in their appearance outfits, now rumpled. Zayn spares a thought to wonder if they still have the same stylist team as the van carries them away.

            The ride is short, thankfully, as it always is stateside, but the boys were right. As soon as they catch sight of the hotel, traffic slows down to a crawl. The crowd outside screams when they see the van, and Zayn’s surprised to see barricades and officers.

            “We announced that you were being released from the hospital.”

            Zayn turns in surprise, because that was Liam speaking. Sure enough, when he glances towards the back seat, Liam’s looking at him, voice and face perfectly normal.

            “Told them you just needed a day or so of bed rest, but you’re fine. Management suggested you do the short walk to the hotel lobby, let them see you.”

            “Makes sense,” Zayn nods, heart thrumming as he tries to match Liam’s casual tone. It’s the first time they’ve talked about anything other than the obvious, and he refuses to fuck it up.

            Liam returns the nod and goes back to his phone, which he’s been on and off since they were waiting in the hallway of the hospital.

            The van halts, and the crowd grows louder, and Louis grins. “Ready, boys?”

            Harry rolls his eyes, and Niall lets out a short, nervous laugh.

            They exit the van with an easy grace honed over months (years for the other lads) and the cops are well-prepared, with a clear path marked and guarded all the way to the hotel door.

            “Don’t linger,” Paul instructs, pushing them forward as security falls in around them.

            It all feels so familiar, Zayn notes as he automatically tunes out most of the yelling. The fans, the van, the security, the barricades – it’s all familiar, like he did this very thing yesterday. He feels himself shift into Zayn Malik, member of One Direction, and he grins, wide, at the fans as he lifts his hand in an easy wave.

            The yelling grows louder, ear-splitting, and Zayn moves forward, because Paul said not to linger. He thinks he might like to stop and chat, sign a few things, but he knows he isn’t really prepared for that. He jumps in surprise, though, when the other boys fall in around him, like a human barricade in addition to the other layers of protection.

            He twists his head, automatically seeking out Liam who stands just behind his left shoulder. Liam catches his eye and shoots him a tight grin, and Zayn’s heart jolts. It’s the formation they usually use for Niall, but Niall’s gritting his teeth and standing between the fans and Zayn, and Zayn’s suddenly filled with overwhelming gratitude for this band. He had forgotten how they all protected each other, how they really were a family.

            The walk is short, ten feet of sidewalk at most, and Zayn walks it slowly, making sure to grin and wave at the fans as he goes. He’s so grateful for the fans, they all are, and he wants to make sure they see that he’s fine.

            Mostly fine, anyways.

            A man opens the hotel door, nodding at them like this is an everyday occurrence, and they all enter, surprising Zayn again. Paul had told them not to linger, but he had honestly expected the boys to sign a few things at least. They stick with him though, as Paul and the rest of security enter and the door slides shut, cutting off most of the noise.

            “Already got the rooms, since this is where the boys’ve been staying,” Paul tells Zayn as he leads them toward a bank of elevators. The rest of the security men break off and head towards their own elevator, ready to kill time and relax.

            They all file into the first elevator that arrives, the other boys with their phones out as they text family members and friends, and Zayn wonders how long they have here. He hasn’t been filled in on the band’s schedule since yesterday, but he doesn’t ask yet. He’s tired suddenly, just wants to go to bed.

            He could blame how tired he is for the fact that he leans against the back wall right beside Liam, but that’s only part of the reason. Slumping against Liam comes naturally to him, has since the second week of X Factor, and he doesn’t realize that he’s touching Liam until the elevator doors have closed, and they’re already moving. It’d be one thing if he had realized because of how tense Liam is against him, but that’s not what tips Zayn off. Louis turns around to ask him something, mouth wide and blue eyes grinning, but he stops short, gaze dropping to Zayn’s arm. It’s then that Zayn feels it, the warmth of Liam’s skin against his own, not a single layer in between them, and he’s struck all at once with the knowledge that this is the first time he has touched Liam since he woke up.

            It shatters him in a million silent ways.

            He goes to move away immediately, heart stuttering in his chest, but Liam shakes his head, not looking at Zayn as his jaw tenses. Zayn goes still immediately, unsure because that was clearly Liam telling him not to worry about it, but Liam also clearly doesn’t want to be touching him. Every tendon on his arm stands out where Zayn’s skin brushes his, and he looks to be grinding his teeth, and he won’t meet Zayn’s eyes.

            And Zayn, he just doesn’t know what to feel. Liam’s skin against his is so damned warm, and he remembers it. Liam’s always warm, Zayn usually cold, and Liam always comments on it with a laugh as he grabs Zayn’s hands and yanks him closer. Zayn aches for that, but this isn’t the same, the way they’re touching now. He goes to pull back, even though Liam clearly told him he didn’t have to, but the elevator comes to a stop with a ding.

            The doors slide open and Liam’s pushing off the wall and through the other boys and Paul, none of whom noticed the awkward moment just behind them. Zayn represses a sigh and goes to follow Liam off the elevator, but Louis’s hand whips out and wraps around Zayn’s bicep.

            “No, mate,” Louis says softly, voice still catching everyone’s attention even though he’s obviously trying to be discreet. “Liam and Harry are sharing on this floor, with Paul. You and I have a room on the next floor, and so does Nialler.”

            Zayn flushes immediately, embarrassment running hot through his body as Harry steps out of the elevator with Paul. Niall’s looking at him with large eyes filled with pity, and Zayn’s eyes are glued to Liam’s back. Liam isn’t moving, back rigid as Harry comes up beside him.

            “Right,” Zayn manages, voice hoarse. “‘Course.”

            Liam turns at the sound of his voice, and his face. Zayn sucks in a startled gasp of air, because Liam looks fucking devastated. His brown eyes waiver with guilt as Harry places a large hand on his shoulder and leans toward him, whispering something that Liam clearly doesn’t hear. His eyes remained glued to Zayn until the doors separate them, the expression of loss never fading for a moment.

            Zayn doesn’t collapse until the doors slide shut, but as soon as they do, he just breaks. The tears are hot and heavy down his cheeks, but Zayn doesn’t make a noise. He’s always been a silent crier, and now is no exception as he loses control.

            It’s such a stupid thing, these two insignificant moments, but it hurts all the same. He forgot that he doesn’t touch Liam anymore. He forgot that he doesn’t room with Liam anymore. He forgot that he isn’t with Liam anymore.

            And how is he meant to do this? Fuck, how has he been doing this for two years? It’s all instinct and habit with Liam, and he swears that the urge to touch Liam will never fade, so how has he been surviving? He’s only been out of the hospital for an hour, and he’s already fucked up twice. How is he supposed to manage?

            Louis’s arms wrap around him easily as he strokes Zayn’s back without a word, and Zayn accepts the comfort because he’s pathetic and he’s been holding it in. He’s been holding it all in since yesterday when he fought with Liam, and he shouldn’t be surprised that he can’t keep it up.

            “I’ve got him,” Louis says when the doors open, and Zayn sees the blurry outline of Niall nod and depart. He’s not hurt by that, since they all know that Niall just doesn’t do well with crying people.

            “Come on, Zayn. Think you and I need to have a heart to heart,” Louis teases, tugging him out of the elevator.

            Zayn makes himself snort even with tears fresh on his face. “You don’t have a heart, Tomlinson.”

            Louis grins and winks. “That’s just what I told you when you clearly had a massive crush on me. Have to break it to the hopeful ones easy.”

            Zayn chokes on a laugh and clings tighter to Louis. He aches, inside, but he’s desperate not to be alone with it. He can’t be alone again, not tonight.

 

* * *

 

            He falls asleep with sore eyes and a raw throat, but his mind doesn’t rest.

 

* * *

 

            _When Zayn had pressed sloppy, sleepy kisses down Liam’s chest he had intended on just blowing his boyfriend awake, but of course, his plans never go quite like how he imagines. It’s Liam’s fault completely, for jolting awake and causing Zayn’s tongue to slide lower than he intended. Zayn’s not really angry though. This, he thinks, is far better._

_“Baby,” Liam gasps, hands clenching convulsively in Zayn’s loose hair._

_Zayn struggles not to grin, licking a broad stripe over Liam’s hole, tonguing at the rim wetly. He’s rewarded with Liam’s high keen as his boyfriend drives down onto his tongue, and he thinks, again, that this is much better than the blowjob, even though the position requires Liam’s hips to be uncomfortably high, his legs thrown over Zayn’s shoulders as Zayn presses closer._

_They’re in a hotel in some city, still on tour, and Zayn rode Liam for hours the night before to work off post show adrenaline, and he really hadn’t thought he’d initiate another round of sex this morning, but Liam’s fucking down onto his tongue as he straightens it, and his rapidly hardening cock is beginning to demand attention._

_“Zayn, Jesus, please,” Liam stutters out, hands grabbing the headboard as his muscles strain, like he can’t keep still. Zayn can’t help but watch at this awkward angle as he traces the tight rim, fucking his tongue into the pulsing hole once, twice, three times, slow and then fast just to watch the way Liam’s eyes go dark at the alternating rhythm._

_“Fuck.”_

_Zayn ruts against the bed in response because Liam only curses in bed, and they’ve only been fucking for a little over a month on tour which he hadn’t thought would change anything, but Zayn swears it’s the best sex of his life. Licking another broad stripe over Liam’s skin, he watches Liam’s cock twitch against his straining abs, skin going sweat-slick as Liam fights not to shove too hard back on Zayn’s tongue. He whines prettily when Zayn blows air over the wet skin, and Zayn doesn’t restrain his grin as he nudges his tongue past the ring of muscle, fucking deeper and harder, so fucking eager._

_He hasn’t fucked Liam in ages, and a random morning in a random hotel in a random city seems like the perfect time and place to remedy that._

_“Want to fuck you,” Zayn rasps out in between licks, tongue tracing the desire into Liam’s hole as Liam clenches around the flexed muscle. “Li, please, need to fuck you.”_

_“Your mouth,” Liam gasps as Zayn plunges deeper. “Fuck, Zayn, please, your mou –”_

_“Fucking hell!”_

_The exclamation startles Liam into bolting upright, and Zayn jumps, leaning up on his forearms to glare over his shoulder, because he definitely recognizes that voice._

_Louis’s standing in the open doorway, mouth as wide as his startled blue eyes, and Harry’s standing behind him with his mouth open even wider, and there’s an empty space between them where Zayn just knows Niall had been standing._

_Liam chokes, eyes going wide as his face flushes red in embarrassment, and he tugs the rucked up sheet over his erection automatically. The mood departs the room just like that, and Zayn looks mournfully at Liam’s covered cock._

_“Louis!” Zayn snaps in irritation._

_“Oh, hell no, Malik,” Louis snaps back, eyes flashing to Zayn’s face where he’s still very obviously perched between Liam’s spread thighs. “You do not get to use your mum voice on me when I’ve caught you rimming our bandmate!”_

_Harry laughs and immediately claps his hand over his mouth, green eyes going wide in apologetic surprise._

_Zayn sighs and rests his forehead against Liam’s thigh, struggling to come back from the edge of what would have been sexual bliss. This is not how they meant to tell the boys about them._

_“Don’t have a mum voice,” he mumbles into Liam’s skin, and Liam’s hand inches back into his hair to rub soothingly at his scalp. It doesn’t help his remaining erection._

_“No, sorry, apparently you just have a depraved sex voice,” Louis snips. “Do you even know what you were saying? Shit, Zayn, what even –”_

_“We’ve been dating,” Liam blurts out._

_Zayn looks up to cock a surprised eyebrow at the still blushing Liam. This is definitely not how they planned on telling the others, but Zayn has to bite his lip to keep from grinning at Liam’s pink face. Liam catches his look and shoots him an annoyed but amused look like he knows exactly what Zayn’s thinking._

_“You’re dating?” Louis repeats, voice high, though he’d deny it if Zayn pointed it out._

_“And fucking,” Zayn supplies helpfully, pressing a kiss against Liam’s inner thigh when his boyfriend squeaks and turns redder at the blunt statement._

_“Obviously.”_

_“Congratulations,” Harry intones in that deep voice of his._

_Liam’s skin is remaining a frankly alarming shade of pink, and he appears unable to formulate a response. Zayn rolls his eyes and glances back at his lingering bandmates, quirking his eyebrow at them this time. He’s very aware that he’s only wearing pants, and Liam’s still (sinfully) naked, his erection tenting the sheet he grabbed for modesty. Zayn can still taste him on his tongue, and he licks his lips slowly, ensnaring Liam’s eyes as he does so. Liam lets out a low whine and then immediately clamps his mouth shut, and Zayn grins predatorily._

_“Thanks. Now if you’d leave, we were in the middle of something.”_

_“No shit,” Louis deadpans, eyes glinting. “Didn’t take Liam for a bottom though. Thought he’d be the dominant one for sure. The way he was whining though –”_

_“Louis!”_

_“Just because he’s larger,” Harry begins, brow furrowed like this is a serious matter._

_“I know you know better, Lou,” Zayn interrupts. “Didn’t you say something about that muscular guy in drama being submissive?”_

_Louis squeaks, actually squeaks, as he flushes, and Zayn grins in triumph because it’s fucking hard to embarrass Louis Tomlinson. Harry’s interest is evident as he glances at Louis, and Zayn knows that he’s won._

_“I swear to God, Malik –”_

_He groans and buries his head in Liam’s thigh, intentionally shifting so that he rubs against Liam’s erection. Liam hisses, always so vocal and responsive, and Zayn grins._

_“Get out,” he mutters without looking back up. “Or I swear, I’ll go back to what I was doing with you still in the room.”_

_“Zayn –” Liam gasps, shifting as though to move away._

_Zayn’s not having that though, pressing his lips against Liam’s thigh to still him and then unexpectedly biting down, hard enough to leave a purple mark for the next few days. Liam moans, unable to help it, deep and guttural and so fucking hot that Zayn releases an answering groan._

_“That’s hot,” Harry comments over Louis’s alarmed, abortive noise._

_“Haz, no,” Louis groans._

_Zayn’s tongue darts out to trace the indents of his teeth, and he almost feels bad for Liam, the way his breathing hitches even though he’s clearly trying to be quiet._

_“Fuck, Malik!” Louis snaps. “Fine, fine, you win. We’re leaving! But don’t think for a second that I’m not calling a band meeting later today. I’m making Paul come, too, because poor Nialler’s probably scarred from what he saw.”_

_Zayn ignores him, pressing light kisses further up Liam’s thigh as he makes his way back to his intended target. He waits until he hears the door close before swooping back in as he rips the sheet away, not letting Liam prepare before he pushes his tongue wetly past the ring of muscle again, moaning against the pink skin and inhaling that musky scent._

_Liam gasps, chest heaving. “Fuck, Zayn, we should –”_

_Zayn shakes his head, refusing to remove his tongue from Liam’s skin. “Still want to fuck you.”_

_Liam sighs, like he’s giving in, and Zayn quickly turns that sigh into a long groan that goes straight to his cock._

_It’s really not how they meant to tell the band, but Zayn doesn’t give a fuck._

 

            The dream shifts and –

 

            _Zayn walks out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel and stops dead when he sees Liam sitting on the edge of the bed, fully clothed. He shouldn’t be surprised, not really, but that doesn’t stop a sharp stab of pain from racing through his chest._

_Liam looks up, brown eyes guilty but resolved. “I’m going out with Niall and Harry.”_

_Zayn doesn’t say anything, doesn’t know what to say to that, knows that he can’t say what he’s actually thinking, which is something along the lines of: you just fucked me like you haven’t all week and I was dumb enough to let myself hope it meant something, and I didn’t bother putting on clothes because I wanted –_

_But no. Of course not._

_It’s been weeks since he and Liam acted like that, fucked like that, loved like that. They’re in some hotel that looks just like all the others, and Zayn had prepared himself for a night just like all the others have been on this stupid tour for the past month, but then Liam had pressed him gently into the wall as soon as the door had closed. Zayn can still feel the way Liam had traced light kisses over his neck, his jaw, his lips, the way they had moved together slow and perfectly in time and unbearably sweet – making love, even though Zayn hates the way the two words sound together like that, but he doesn’t hate the way he and Liam feel together like that. So he let himself hope, naively, that it meant they were better, back to how they had been, that tonight would be what their relationship had grown into over the last year._

_But now Liam’s sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed and not even showered, and he’s going out with Niall and Harry._

_“Okay,” Zayn answers finally after a pregnant pause that probably said way more than he wanted it to. He’s trying to hide how hurt he is, really, because he knows it isn’t fair of him, but it’s so fucking hard when he’s never had to hide how he feels from Liam before._

_Liam breathes out a harsh mockery of a laugh as Zayn stiffly walks past him, headed toward the duffle bag that contains mostly Liam’s clothes because Zayn steals them every chance he gets, and it’s going to hurt, falling asleep in one of Liam’s shirts tonight, but Zayn will do it anyways. He can’t sleep without Liam’s scent surrounding him._

_“Okay?” Liam echoes. “That’s it?”_

_“What do you want me to say, Li?” Zayn asks in a gentle voice, refusing to look up as he digs through the clothes. “You’re not asking for my permission.”_

_The frustrated noise that leaves Liam’s mouth makes Zayn cringe because shit, they’re so fucked up. He knows they’re fucked up, but he doesn’t know how to fix it. Not when –_

_“They want you to go out with her anyways.”_

_Zayn stills, one hand wrapped up in a plain white shirt that’s so ridiculously large on him but fits Liam sinfully tight. He’s mortified that his first thought is: I can’t wear this shirt then. Mortified and then horrified because it proves that they aren’t actually fucked up. No, just Zayn is._

_“Perrie came by while you were showering,” Liam continues, and Zayn wishes that Liam sounded mad, but he doesn’t. He just sounds defeated. “She’s waiting in the lobby.”_

_Liam’s walking toward the door, and Zayn can’t even think (doesn’t want to think about how management flew Perrie out to meet them, how it’s driving Liam crazy, how it makes everything so much worse, how her presence is the reason that he and Liam are not the same right now) so he just acts. He’s up and pressing against Liam’s back, shirt forgotten as he clasps one desperate hand around Liam’s wrist to stop him. Liam pauses._

_“Don’t go out tonight.” Zayn’s desperate, wanting that night that he envisioned. He and Liam tangled together in bed with nothing but skin pressing together, all the lazy, slow, heartfelt sex that would follow throughout the night, the way the slow and gentle touches would fix the cracks that Zayn knows he put on both of their bodies. He’s irrationally jealous, angry about the pictures he knows he’ll see tomorrow if Liam goes out – all those people pressed against his boyfriend, allowed to touch him in public and so greedy for his attention, and Zayn can’t stand it. “Please, Li, don’t go.”_

_Liam releases a slow breath. “I’ll stay if you stay.”_

_Zayn’s eyes slide shut in defeat, because he knew that’s what Liam would say. It’s their new ultimatum, what they’ve been driven to, what Zayn’s driven them to. Zayn begs Liam not to go out and party, pleads with him, but it isn’t fair because Zayn will have to go out. Management will call him or Perrie will show up and then Zayn will go. He’ll go out for an hour, hold Perrie’s hand, play nice boyfriend at dinner, and then he’ll come back. For months, Liam was always waiting for him, erasing the foreign touches and smells of Perrie by replacing them with his familiarity, but it changed. It changed a month ago when Zayn came back to an empty hotel room and woke up to cold sheets and pictures of Liam with two girls clinging to his sides in some club._

_Liam’s done going along with Zayn’s public relationship, and Zayn can’t blame him. He knows what Liam wants – for Zayn to quit the fake relationship, to tell management to fuck off, to be publicly single for a while, the way Liam has been since his pretend fling with Danielle that ended far earlier than management wanted. Hell, it’s what Zayn would want in Liam’s place. But he won’t do it._

_Zayn’s a bloody coward, and he’s terrified that rumors will start up or that he and Liam will get sloppy, that he’ll out himself to the world, that this relationship will break apart under the scrutiny of the public eye. He’s terrified that it will shatter, so instead he’s letting it crack and crack and crack in little increments, turning a blind eye to it all._

_So when Liam says he’ll stay if Zayn stays, he wants Zayn to tell management to fuck off, to tell Perrie to forget it, to stay here with Liam. And Zayn should do it._

_He should say okay._

_His fingers unwrap from Liam’s wrist one by one, ice cold and numb, and Zayn swears it isn’t even his hand but he knows that bird on the back and he knows his own frightened heart. He peels himself away from Liam’s back, and he’s freezing, but he’s doing it to himself._

_The slight hitching of Liam’s breath is almost unnoticeable, but Zayn hears it. Of course he hears it, and it breaks his heart because he’s a terrible person and a worse boyfriend._

_“Right,” Liam addresses the empty air between himself and the door. “Don’t wait up then.”_

_And he’s gone, just like that. Zayn stands in the middle of his empty hotel room in a towel, shivering from the cold that he surrounded himself in, and he knows, saw it just as Liam disappeared out the door, that Liam was crying as he left._

           

            And the dream shifts –

 

            _“God, Zayn, I swear you’d just let me walk out the fucking door!” Perrie screams, porcelain skin flushing a feminine pink because even in anger, she looks absolutely stunning._

_Zayn’s not thinking, can’t think with this pounding headache that won’t go away. “Go ahead.”_

_The silence that descends speaks volumes about how badly Zayn’s fucked this fight up now, and he knows that he should be backtracking, should definitely be apologizing already, but he just fucking can’t. He’s rubbing at his eyes tiredly, and his heartbeat sends a pulse of pain through his brain every few seconds, and he’s just so fucking tired._

_“You let him just walk away.”_

_Zayn’s head snaps up, and he’s glaring at her, because hell no. He and Perrie talk about everything, of course they do after years of being so close and a year of actually dating, but they don’t talk about that. They never talk about that._

_But Perrie’s on a roll. “You let him just walk away and you’ve hated yourself for it ever since! You like to pretend like it was your choice, but it wasn’t! You’re playing like a fucking martyr or some shit, Zayn, like you’re the victim, and that’s just bullshit beca –”_

_“Get out.” Zayn’s voice cracks like ice and immediately halts Perrie’s tirade. Her blue eyes go wide with surprise, a flicker of guilt in their depths, but Zayn doesn’t care. He’s shaking apart at the seams, the headache roaring in his ears, and he can’t deal with this right now, especially not today._

_“Zayn –”_

_“Get out,” he repeats in a tired voice, rubbing again at his forehead and ignoring the pleading tone in Perrie’s voice. He’s not normally so overtly cruel to her, though he’s long since stopped trying to convince himself that he’s actually good for her. But he can’t deal with this shit today, not when the date’s tattooed to the backs of his eyelids, and he still has to tweet Liam._

_Happy Birthday to my best mate!!! Xxx – or some shit like that, something that doesn’t mean anything, but Zayn will do it anyways, and Liam will respond like everything between them isn’t complete and utter shit, and it will tear Zayn apart._

_But he’ll do it._

_So no, he doesn’t want to deal with Perrie today, even though he should. He just wants to get it over with and get a drink and then pass the fuck out._

_“Did you ever stop loving him?” Perrie hisses, whirling away from him and leaving the kitchen without a backward glance because she knows the answer._

_Still, he waits until the door slams shut, only confessing his secret to the dead silence._

_“No.”_

 

            He bolts awake, his stomach heaving already, feet unsteady on unfamiliar floors as he flings himself forward and –

 

            Louis stumbles into the bathroom minutes or hours later, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. He stops in the doorway though when he sees Zayn slumped against the shut toilet lid, desperate for the press of cool porcelain against his flushed skin after heaving into it for an eternity. Zayn offers him a weak smile, mouth vile because there was nothing in his stomach to throw up except bile.

            “You look like shit, mate,” Louis observes casually, leaning against the doorjamb and rubbing at his scruff, and Zayn’s struck again by how different they all are from the boys he remembers.

            “Feel worse,” he admits.

            Louis’s nose wrinkles as he no doubt inhales the stale air in the tiny bathroom. “Did you throw up?”

            Zayn just nods, too tired to care to explain that it was mostly dry heaving and burning acid, too tired to care at all.

            Louis clucks sympathetically, mother-hen mode kicking in as he finally wakes up. “Bad dream then?”

            Zayn opens his mouth to say no – (No because he’s certain now that they aren’t dreams; they’re fragments of memories, both ones he should still have and ones that he can’t remember at all, but they all feel real, and that makes his stomach turn. He remembers, so clearly, the boys catching him and Liam, though, and it didn’t feel any different than that fight – God that fight – with Liam, and he hates it. He hates that they’re only fragments because he can’t see the full picture, doesn’t understand his reactions, and they aren’t good memories, these fragments. They’re terrible. He’s horrible, and he doesn’t know what made him that way, and it’s all just too much) – but instead he says, “Yes.”

            He can’t face the fragments of his memories yet, and certainly not while on the bathroom floor at some unholy hour in the morning with Louis to bear witness.

            Louis sinks to the floor beside him at the admission, knee nudging against Zayn’s thigh because Louis always needs to be touching someone. “Because of what happened earlier?”

            Zayn’s eyes slide shut because no, it hadn’t been about that. Not really, though his eyes are still sore from crying for over an hour as Louis held him on the bed because it had hurt. It had hurt to see Liam walking away from him. It had hurt to see Liam hurting because of him.

            And he still doesn’t get it. Doesn’t understand why Liam seems to be hurting just as much as he is, when he’s got holes in his head and ones in his heart to match.

            “Not really,” Zayn finally sighs out, letting himself relax into the comforting presence that Louis just seems to radiate in these situations, and it’s pathetic, but this is definitely not the first time that Zayn’s ended up on the bathroom floor with only Louis to comfort him.

            “So why get sick then? You only ever make yourself this way when you’re freaking out.” Louis’s tone isn’t judgmental; it’s kind and caring and gentle as he prods Zayn into talking about it.

            And it’s true; Zayn literally worries himself sick. He does it before shows, before interviews, before going back home. He worries obsessively. That wasn’t what caused this though. “I dreamt about Liam.”

            Louis actually snorts. “No shit.”

            “He turned into Perrie.”

            “No shit,” Louis gapes at him, and Zayn can’t help but notice that it was the same two words but the tone was so vastly different.

            Zayn just nods, scrubbing a hand through his sweat-crusted hair and grimacing at how gross he feels. His hair’s so long is the thing, and he’s not used to how it feels. “Second time it’s happened. I’m looking at Liam and then, just like that, I’m looking at Perrie instead.”

            “Kinky.”

            He kicks Louis.

            “Ouch, sorry, right,” Louis rubs at his shin absently. “I just wasn’t prepared for that. It’s...”

            “Fucked up?”

            “A bit, ya.”

            Zayn doesn’t respond.

            “I’m not sure what to say,” Louis admits with a light laugh. “You’ve made me speechless.”

            “First time for everything.”

            Louis laughs and lightly shoves him, a mirroring grin itching over Zayn’s lips. “Tosser.”

            Zayn just shrugs, feeling his brief smile slipping away again.

            Louis sighs. “I honestly have no idea what to say to you though. You don’t remember Perrie at all, do you?”

            “Not really. I remember talking with her a few times, and the suggestion that we pretend to date. A few things stick out, like I knew her voice immediately, but overall it’s just a blank.”

            “Well,” Louis hums thoughtfully, “I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”

            “Obviously. We broke up so it doesn’t matter.”

            Louis waves him away. “No. Well, yes, thanks for telling us about that by the way you prick. But I meant that you never really loved her.”

            Zayn chokes on air. “What?”

            Louis eyes him skeptically. “Oh, come on. Even with half your mind gone, you can’t think you really loved her.”

            “Half of my mind isn’t gone.”

            “That’s not the point.”

            Zayn knows that wasn’t the point, even if Louis is alarmingly wrong, but he’s not sure what to say in response to the other thing Louis said. Of course he doesn’t think he loved her, because he doesn’t remember her, but if he agreed to marry her – fuck, if he wanted to marry her, then he had to love her. He had to. Zayn doesn’t even want to think about how fucked up he’d have to be to want to marry someone he didn’t love, which is what Louis is implying.

            A sudden tap on the side of his head, knuckles rapping against his temple, makes him jolt. Louis gives him a guilty grin. “You’re thinking too hard, Malik.”

            And it makes his breathing easier, because that is familiar. Louis understands what it’s like to overanalyze everything, but he also knows how to stop it. Zayn doesn’t, never has, and Louis brings him back. “I wouldn’t’ve proposed if I didn’t love her.”

            Louis laughs, short and humorless. “Or that’s exactly why you proposed.”

            “Louis.”

            He sighs and shoots Zayn a frustrated look. “Harry says we shouldn’t tell you anything, that we should let you figure it out, because we might bias you or summat. Bullshit, if you ask me.”

            “But you always listen to Harry.”

            “Fuck off,” Louis’s lips twist. “Look, you and Perrie, it wasn’t like that. You proposed, but it was just another thing to do, mate, and you never said but I think management suggested it.”

            It’s there, a faint whisper, a suit wrapped around a faceless man – _“If you proposed...”_

            Zayn frowns down at his hands, his gut twisting uncomfortably again. He doesn’t want to believe it, but he sort of does. Coward. The word seems to fit him more and more.

            (And these are memories coming back, just as the doctor said they would, but Zayn’s not sure he wants them anymore, and that’s.... it’s too much to be thinking about on a bathroom floor in the middle of the night).

            “Look,” Louis sighs. “You were happy with Perrie sometimes. But you weren’t – It wasn’t quite real. And she knew it, which is why she dumped your sorry arse.”

            “She was a distraction.”

            Louis nods. “You were – you were a fucking wreck after Liam, mate. Just rubbish for days, like deflated. And you wouldn’t talk about it. Christ, you just shoved it all down, which like, fine, right? Because we don’t do that emotional shit, ya? Me and you, we don’t talk about it. But it was hard,” Louis won’t look at him, and Zayn’s not surprised, because Louis is right. He and Lou, they never do this emotional shit, talk about it like this.

            “I never loved her.”

            “You never loved her.”

            “So it was like you and Eleanor?”

            Zayn flinches before Louis can so much as react, because shit, he shouldn’t have said that. Eleanor and Louis – it’s not something they talk about. Any of them. And he only said it because he’s deflecting, like he always does.

            “Lou –”

            He grunts, cutting Zayn off as he rubs tiredly at his eyes. “Forget it.”

            “No, Louis –”

            Louis glances up and the skin around his eyes is so damn tight, like he’s fucking tired, and _oh_. He’s exhausted, Zayn realizes all at once. If Zayn was a better friend, a better person, he would force Louis to talk about this thing with Harry right now.

            (And it’s definitely a _thing_ – completely undefinable because Louis and Harry refuse to define it for anyone else. It’s painful, though, whatever it is. Painful to watch Harry be so clearly in love with Louis while Louis hides himself away with Eleanor, and Zayn swears that they love each other, really love each other. They burn bright, Harry and Louis, and it’s dangerous. He gets that. They could either be amazing together or terrible, with no middle ground, and when he really thinks about it, Zayn’s sure that Louis is just scared of what it all means).

            But Zayn doesn’t push Louis, not about Harry.

“We talked about all this, actually,” Louis admits, after a moment of silence. “Liam and Harry. Eleanor and Perrie. ‘S why we were out driving the other night. We started going out, getting lost, so we could just talk about it. Only damn thing you never told me is why you and Liam gave up.”

            Zayn winces. “You can tell me again, y’know. If I never remember.”

            Louis shakes his head quickly, physically shoving the other things away, and Zayn gets it, why he would turn to Louis. Louis gets him, understands the way he sometimes just can’t face reality. “Nah, mate. You’ll remember on your own.”

            He claps a hand to Zayn’s knee and then stands, like there’s nothing else to be said. He leaves, but Zayn stays on the bathroom floor for a while longer.

Louis sounds so sure, so ready for Zayn to remember, and he should want to remember. Zayn should definitely want to remember.

            But he’s suddenly terrified that he’s already started remembering.

 

* * *

 

            The next day is filled with nothing but time, and Zayn’s so fucking grateful.

            It’s just – he’s exhausted. He couldn’t go back to sleep after his early morning therapy session on the bathroom floor with Louis. His head was buzzing, and he felt itchy in his own skin, so he immediately sought out what always made him feel better – cigarettes. For a moment, he’d thought he was an idiot, because obviously he didn’t have any smokes on him, but then he’d opened his duffel and they’d been right on the top, his favorite kind.

            He can’t explain it, but as soon as he saw them, he knew – Liam.

            Liam had bought him his favorite brand.

            Zayn had ended up smoking an additional two cigarettes on the balcony because of that knowledge, and the burn of the smoke had helped him think. It’s always been funny to him, the way ruining his lungs has always made it easier for him to breathe, and this time was no different. The cigarettes calmed him, and as he rolled them between his fingers, he thought about what it means that Liam had bought them.

            It means that Liam still knows him, at least well enough to guess that Zayn would be desperate to smoke. It means that Liam had been thinking about him. It means that Liam still cares. (It’s pathetic how much Zayn wants Liam to just _care_ ).

            But mostly it means that Liam is not completely shutting Zayn out of his life.

            He’s so grateful for that.

            “Hey,” Louis pops his head out onto the balcony, where Zayn’s still perched because the air feels nice on his skin. “The boys and I are heading out, looking around. Want to come?”

            Zayn’s tempted, so tempted. Venturing around the different cities with the boys used to be one of his favorite things, but the day stretches in front of him with empty hours where he can be alone. He thought he’d be desperate to stay with the lads, and he loves their company, he does, but they’ve all been watching him for days now. It’s not an oppressive presence, but he can still feel their eyes always on him, and he’d just like a few hours to himself again.

            He isn’t dying. He isn’t a risk. He’s perfectly fine except for the gaps in his memory, and he’d just like to be alone for a bit.

            “Nah, man,” Zayn shakes his head. “Think I’ll just hang here. Need to talk to me mum again. Maybe catch up on One Direction, biggest boy band in the world, ya?”

            Louis echoes his grin, face relaxing the slightest bit. “Call if you change your mind, Z.”

            Zayn waits until he’s sure that they’re actually gone before he ventures back into the room. Pulling his laptop with him, he sprawls on the bed and sets to work. Paul called him earlier to tell him that management wants him to go to the interview they have scheduled tomorrow. Zayn agreed, because it was management and because it was easier, but now he’s a bit worried.

            He still doesn’t remember everything, and while he’s sure the lads will cover for him, Zayn hates feeling like a burden, loathes it actually. So he needs to figure out how he’s changed these last couple of years, how he behaves in the public eye.

            The videos are still weird to watch, that same disconnect remaining, and it makes his throat tighten every time he notices distance between him and Liam, but he struggles through. He’s relieved to notice that his attitude really hasn’t changed over the years, and he clicks out of the videos only a short time later.

            He moves onto the songs, their new album, next. They aren’t performing tomorrow, but he’d rather be prepared. They might have to talk about the songs at any rate.

            What strikes him first is the overall sound. It’s different, more like them, and he finds out it’s because they’ve taken more control of their album. Wikipedia informs him that they actually wrote most of these new songs, and as he listens to the music, he’s shocked by the raw honesty in the words.

            Its little things, unnoticeable details that most people just wouldn’t get, but he sees it. He sees the stories they snuck in, and he’s breathless at the raw honesty Louis shoved into “No Control,” the way Harry clearly wrote “Where Do Broken Hearts Go” to vent his frustration. It’s not until he sees his own name credited, when he reads the lyrics to “Clouds” and can’t breathe, that he stops listening.

            There’s a story in that song, one Zayn doesn’t understand, and he can’t figure it out. So he does what he’s gotten the best at: he shoves it away.

            It’s not until hours later, when Louis’s back and Zayn’s singing in the shower, that it happens.

            The door slams open and Zayn yelps, choking off his words.

            “Louis! What the fuck –”

            “You were singing our song!” Louis crows, ripping the shower curtain aside.

            Zayn hisses at the rush of colder air and glares at Louis, because seriously? He’s arse naked here. “I sing our shit all the time, Lou! Get out!”

            Louis ignores him, eyes bright with manic excitement. “You were singing ‘Steal My Girl,’ Malik. ‘Steal My Girl!’ Y’know that song that just came out? The one you don’t know?”

            Zayn blinks and then blinks again. “Shit.” He hadn’t even realized. He always sings in the shower, and he never really thinks about what he’s singing.

            Louis’s grin looks painful, pulling wide at his cheeks. “You’re starting to remember.”

            “I listened to the album today,” Zayn admits.

            “And now you remember.”

            “It’s just the songs, Lou. Don’t get too excited.”

            Louis rolls his eyes. “Be fucking happy, Zayn. Christ. You remember our music. Smile about it!” He turns on his heel, marching out of the bathroom with a hop in his step, and Zayn knows that he’s going to go tell the others.

            He sighs and turns back to the shower, closing his eyes in defeat as the water runs over him. Louis has a point; it is a mark of progress that he apparently remembers their new songs. He’s just not sure it’s as good of a thing as Louis clearly thinks it is, and he wishes Louis wouldn’t tell the others.

            He doesn’t want to get all of their hopes up, most of all his own.

 

* * *

 

            Zayn’s exhausted, again.

            His insomnia is apparently sticking around, because he couldn’t sleep at all the night before. He knows it’s at least partially nerves for the interview today, but it’s also because he couldn’t stop running through the new album in his head.

            Louis was right after all. Zayn remembers the entire album now, crystal clear, like it never left his head. It’s astonishing frankly, and Zayn was buzzing all night because of it, and now he’s dead on his feet.

            Zayn’s always hated mornings. He never feels awake until hours after he’s been up, and this morning is no different, only worse. His eyesight is blurry, everything muffled, and he keeps yawning every few seconds. His thoughts only come in short fragments, mostly nonsense that he doesn’t even remember in the next moment.

            “You look rough, Malik,” Niall quips as Zayn drags himself into the lobby, beanie shoved over his destroyed hair.

            Zayn salutes him with his middle finger.

            Louis laughs, flinging an arm around Zayn’s shoulder. “Same old, Zaynie. Ray of sunshine in the mornings, you are.”

            “Shove off,” Zayn mutters, voice rasping.

            Louis laughs again, but drops his arm when Zayn does shove him. Smiling, Louis easily switches to cuddling Niall instead. “Come, little leprechaun, leave him to brood. Not everybody can be the personification of sunshine.”

            Niall rolls his eyes but accepts Louis’s particular brand of affection and the compliment buried under the offensive nickname. They set off, and Zayn’s left to follow slowly behind them, feet dragging.

            Paul’s waiting by a side door that no doubt leads to some alley, another of his master plans to sneak them out that will inevitably fail.

            “Harry and Liam are already in the van,” he says with no preamble, eyeing them all and giving Zayn a hard look for being so tired.

            Zayn feels like flipping him off as well.

            The sun shines brightly, and Zayn groans, shoving Louis and Niall aside so he can bury himself in the dark of the van waiting for them. Harry and Liam are inside, going ominously silent as soon as Zayn appears in the doorway, but he doesn’t care to ask what the hell they were talking about. It’s fucking early, and Zayn’s tired, and he’d just like to kip on the way to the interview.

            Without thought, he climbs into the backseat, sliding in beside Liam. Liam’s eyes go wide, mouth opening around what will probably be a too-cheerful morning greeting that Zayn’s in no mood to hear.

            “Hate everything,” he grumbles at the van in general, and then he lays his head on Liam’s shoulder and closes his eyes with a sigh.

            Liam’s tense under him, and Zayn moans in irritation. Shoving his face harder into Liam’s shirt, inhaling that familiar scent, he presses until he feels Liam relax under him. Sighing happily, Zayn burrows deeper into Liam’s side, relaxing into the familiar position as he slips almost immediately into sleep. One arm goes around Liam’s stomach, cuddling him closer, because Zayn doesn’t get to do this enough and the van’s private enough that he thinks he can get away with it.

            “Liam,” Harry’s voice cracks across the space, and Zayn’s face wrinkles as he groans quietly again. He just wants to sleep.

            Niall and Louis clamber in, loud and laughing, but they go silent almost immediately. Zayn sighs out happily again, glad that someone at least understands his need to sleep, now.

            “Liam,” Harry hisses again.

            “Leave it, Haz,” Liam answers, voice oddly empty.

            Zayn feels his forehead wrinkle, because Liam’s almost always happy in the mornings, but then a hand runs over his back, soothing him, and his face relaxes once more.

            He drifts off to the sound of the van starting up.

 

* * *

 

            “Zayn.”

            He groans and buries his face more firmly into the sweet-smelling pillow under him. Hard muscle presses against his cheek, though, and Zayn groans again. He’s not in bed, then, most likely in a car or on a plane or some other shit.

            The person under him shifts, and Zayn protests with a grunt, hand grabbing a fistful of shirt to make it stop.

            “Zayn, you have to get up.”

            “No.”

            “Zayn,” Liam shifts again, and Zayn really wants to smack him.

            “Leeyum,” he whines. “Sleep.”

            But Liam’s gone tense under him, shoulder uncomfortable in an unfamiliar way because Zayn’s been sleeping on Liam since pretty much day one.

            He blinks one groggy eye open and grins when the first thing he sees is Liam’s birthmark. He loves that mark, placed directly over Liam’s throat. But then Liam shifts, and the position becomes even more uncomfortable.

            With a groan, Zayn drags himself up, rubbing a hand roughly through his hair and knocking off his beanie in the process. “We here?”

            There’s no answer, and Zayn turns to Liam with a frown.

            It slams into him as soon as he sees how hard Liam’s pressed himself against the window, like he can’t get physically far enough away from Zayn. His face is turned outward, but Zayn catches the downturn of his lips.

            “Shit!” he immediately scoots further away, noting immediately that the van is empty except for them and the driver. Liam clearly stayed behind to wake Zayn up, and that’s familiar because Liam knows how much Zayn hates being woken up. He always used to wait until the others left, gentling Zayn into consciousness with light touches and sweeping, soft kisses.

            Zayn makes a choked sound in the back of his throat at the brutal reminder. “Fuck, Liam, why didn’t you shove me away?” His tone is accusing, but it’s only to cover up his own guilt. His heart is racing with it, because shit. He can’t believe that he forgot again, can’t believe that he was so tired this morning that he fell asleep on Liam.

            Liam’s eyes narrow as he whips his head around to glare at Zayn, and Zayn’s heart drops further into his stomach. “Didn’t get much of a chance.”

            Zayn flinches, turning his eyes away. “You can’t let me do that,” he mutters, hating how weak his voice sounds, but fuck, this hurts. “Liam, I forget still sometimes. You can’t let me –”

            “Fine,” Liam cuts him off, voice as hard as his face. “Fine, Zayn, just let me out.”

            “Liam –”

            “You expect it to be easy for me,” Liam cuts him off, furiously not looking at Zayn. “It’s like you think I can just push you away, put you in this separate space away from me. It isn’t easy for me either. None of this is easy!”

            Zayn has no idea what to say to that, his jaw hanging open in surprise. Liam sounds – he sounds pained and furious and hurt, and Zayn has no idea what to say to make that change. His response was automatic, a defense mechanism because he felt exposed and needed to establish control, so he snapped at Liam, and now he feels terrible.

            “Just let me out,” Liam says tiredly, slumping his shoulders and refusing to even look at Zayn.

            Zayn slides out of the van without a word, letting Liam brush past him and walk into the studio first. His fingers itch for a cigarette, but Zayn knows he won’t be allowed. Various security members linger around the van, and his cheeks burn, because he knows that they heard that.

            “Fuck,” he mutters, yanking on the ends of his hair and following Liam’s retreating back inside because he has no other choice.

         

* * *

  

            The interview is awful.

            Well, no, actually it’s fine. It feels like any other interview that Zayn can remember, the same slew of questions that the lads mostly field for him. It’s not even out of place for Zayn to remain so quiet, so by all counts he should be able to relax back into the stiff couch behind him.

            But he can’t.

            He can feel Liam beside him, even with the space separating their bodies, and Liam is so relaxed.

            They didn’t speak at all as the army of stylists got them ready, people going over various details about the interview and all the shit Zayn’s learned to just tune out by this point. Liam stood on one side of the room, and Zayn stayed on the other, and it was terribly, unbearably awkward, but Zayn was dealing with it.

            And then, just as they were getting ready to leave that room, Liam had stopped him with a light hand on his back. Letting the other boys go ahead, Zayn stood perfectly still with Liam beside him. When they were alone, Liam had finally turned to him and offered him a slight smile.

            “I’m sorry,” he admitted, looking sheepish. “I know it wasn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have yelled.”

            The apology should have made Zayn feel better, but it had just made him feel worse. If anyone should have been apologizing, it was Zayn, but before he could, Liam had offered him another slight smile and then walked out into the interview room.

            Zayn had had no choice but to follow, but the guilt has been eating him alive ever since.

            He never deserved Liam, he’s sure, and today just proved it. Liam’s so infinitely better than he is, and every moment that passes where Liam navigates this interview so easily just makes it more glaringly obvious.

            Zayn had thought it was hard before, when Liam wouldn’t even look at him, but this is so much worse. Liam acting like they’re friends, just friends, curls a knife between Zayn’s ribs. He aches, sitting here on this couch, forced to watch Liam charm every single person around them as Zayn fulfills his broody, bad boy image.

            “Zayn?”

            His head snaps to the interviewer, surprised because this is the first time he’s been addressed directly, and he can’t believe the lads didn’t manage to deflect this.

            The interviewer smiles, looking only the smallest bit forced. “How’s the engagement going?”

            He opens his mouth to answer, but he feels it – Liam stiffens, and it’s slight, probably completely unnoticeable, but Zayn notices it. He rubs at his eye, thrown off in a matter of milliseconds, and then he mumbles it: “’m not.”

            The lads’ faces all go perfectly blank, and Zayn pales, but the interviewer looks confused. “I’m sorry?”

            Zayn nearly laughs, because clearly, the interviewer didn’t actually catch that, and shit he’s lucky. He’s so lucky, because this is not the way to break that news, and he’s fairly certain that management doesn’t even know yet. Fuck, he’s stupid for muttering it, but he’d just wanted to comfort Liam and –

            “Zayn’s a bit tired this morning,” Louis jumps in immediately, giving Zayn an exasperated but affectionate grin. “Bloody princess, he is.”

            They all relax as one, and Zayn jumps into the playful banter without hesitation because he needs to. He fucked up, with that mumbled answer, and he knows he only did so because he felt Liam stiffen. He can’t think about it though, can’t focus on the way that Liam seems thrown throughout the rest of the interview, because he has to actively participate now.

            It ends without fanfare, as interviews usually do, and they all shake the interviewer’s hand, thanking the studio for the opportunity as they’re also thanked. Throughout it all, Zayn’s just grateful that it didn’t drag on for much longer.

            He’s relaxed, relieved, as they all file back into the room where they left their actual clothes, and maybe that’s why he doesn’t catch it. It’s not until they’re pulling on their clothes, that he happens to glance at Liam, and then he just stops short.

            Liam’s pissed.

            It’s obvious in the way he yanks on his shirt, running a rough hand over his ruined hair. Liam’s anger is always quiet, fuming internally and building until his actions are jerky and halted because he’s never been able to express himself well.

            And Zayn – he doesn’t get it, but he’s not going to say anything. He’s absolutely going to leave it alone, but then Liam glances up, and he sees Zayn looking at him with a probably shocked expression on his face, and it all just implodes.

            “Nice answer, Zayn,” Liam sneers, and Zayn’s spine instantly straightens, snapping him to attention.

            His eyes narrow automatically, because he inherited a temper, and he can’t stand the judgment on Liam’s face. “Excuse me?”

            “Lads –” Niall tries, always the conciliator.

            “Can’t believe you mumbled that you aren’t engaged,” Liam snaps over Niall’s placating tone. “Real nice to dismiss your fiancé like that.”

            Zayn’s anger flees in a moment. “What?”

            “I mean you asked her to marry you,” Liam continues, expression growing more hateful by the moment. “Did you forget or something? Thought you loved her.”

            “I – we broke up.”

            Everybody freezes, and Zayn looks around in uncertainty, because he thought they knew. They should definitely all know because Perrie told Harry, and Louis and Niall both have commented on it. But then he catches sight of Louis’s eyes, and he sees the guilt there, and he gets it.

            Nobody told Liam.

            “What?”

            Zayn turns back to Liam and winces when he sees all the color drain from Liam’s face. It’s obvious, now, that Liam had no idea. No one told him that Perrie and Zayn were over.

            And Zayn certainly doesn’t want to tell him now, but there’s really no other choice.

“Perrie and I,” Zayn says slowly, keeping eye contact, “broke up. She called off the engagement. We aren’t together.”

            Liam’s silence is absolutely deafening. “But I – she came to the hospital!”

            “Somebody called her,” Zayn shrugs. “Management –”

            “You guys aren’t together.” Liam’s eyes are so, so wide, and it’s heartbreakingly obvious that he had no idea. “Since when?”

            Zayn flinches, suddenly guilty. “She said for a while –”

            “Zayn!”

            “A month,” he whispers, looking down. “She called it off a month ago.”

            “Liam –” Louis tries, moving forward with an outstretched hand.

            Liam whips around on him, eyes accusing. “Did you know?” his voice is hysterical. “Did you all know?”

            “I didn’t tell anyone when it happened,” Zayn interrupts, refusing to let Liam take his anger out on anyone else. “Apparently, I kept it to myself.”

            Liam just looks at him, shoulders tense and chest moving rapidly with every breath, and Zayn understands, implicitly, that he just knocked the ground out from under Liam. He doesn’t understand why it’s such a big deal, but he feels guilty all the same, for keeping it a secret not only from Liam but from them all. It’s just one little part that’s adding up to a picture of who Zayn has become, and he hates it.

            “This is – I can’t –” Liam cuts himself off and turns on his heel abruptly. He’s out of the room in a second, leaving stunned silence behind him.

            “I don’t –” Zayn starts, taking one hesitant step forward, because shit. He’s never seen Liam lose it like that. He gets that it’s weird, that everything between them is shifting, but Liam’s reactions are so fucking strong. It knocks Zayn’s breath away every time because out of the two of them, Zayn was definitely the moody one, and Liam was his balance. Seeing Liam like this, it kills Zayn and he just – “Should I –”

            “Don’t,” Harry snaps out, stomping forward. “I’ll get him, Zayn. Just leave it.”

            Zayn’s mouth slams closed, his hands falling to his sides uselessly as he stops inching after Liam. Harry marches out after him instead, not saying a word to anyone, and Zayn feels like he just broke something and made it unfixable.

 

* * *

 

            Zayn told Louis and Niall that he was going to bed over an hour ago. It isn’t like he lied, exactly, because he felt tired (dead tired, down to his bones, the pure exhaustion of having given up) when he left Niall’s room, but he can’t sleep.

            His inability to sleep is new, like, brand new. Zayn’s always been able to catch a kip anywhere at any time; the boys all tease him about it, but Zayn’s never minded. Like a superpower, Liam used to tease him with a smile and one hand tucked under Zayn’s chin, nudging his head up so he could meet Liam’s shining brown eyes.

            So the fact that he hasn’t slept well in days (months, he thinks possibly because fuck knows if he slept before the accident) itches on his skin like he hasn’t showered in days, and he thinks he has a way to fix it. Liam’s scent – like the beach ridiculously enough, all sunshine and cozy fabrics and laundry combined into one with that hint of citrus– has always lulled him, soothed him, sent him to sleep without hesitation.

            And Zayn knows that if he just had Liam’s scent, he could fall asleep easily.

            So now, Zayn’s standing in a hallway staring at what he’s been told is Liam’s door, and he has a key. (A key that he possibly nicked from Louis because even if Louis and Harry aren’t like they once were, they still keep keys to each other’s rooms, and he’s sure Niall actually has their keys as well). He could go in and just grab one of Liam’s shirts, wouldn’t be the first time, would it? He’s got an entire collection of them at his flat in London – or, well, he had an entire collection, and his stomach twists at the idea that he threw all the pieces of Liam in that flat out.

            The room is empty, he reasons with himself, hands flexing into fists at his sides. Harry and Liam didn’t return with them to the hotel, and when he asked Paul (looking like a kicked puppy, he knows) the older man had shaken his head and said they went out with Paddy and a few other security guards.

            Which means that they’re _out_ out. Some dark nightclub that Harry found on his phone, loud music deafening them, and Harry’ll have a group of birds and lads surrounding him because he always pulls a crowd, like a fucking magnet. But it’s the idea of Liam – safe Liam in his worn jeans and his regular shirts and his easy smile – crowded into a club with strangers pressing into him with greedy hands and eager fingertips –

            Zayn can’t sleep, and he knows exactly why.

            It’s late, and Zayn’s tired, and he’s homesick for a person and not a place which is the worst kind of homesickness, and his hand reaches for the door, and then he’s inside.

            He refuses to linger on the two beds in the room, to wonder which is Liam’s, to possibly wrap himself up in Liam’s sheets, which have to smell like him – Because no. That’d be pathetic, and he’s already crossing the line and becoming a clingy ex. Zayn just needs a shirt.

            He’s hunched over Liam’s duffel – the same beat up one that goes everywhere with them – and his guilty hands are flitting over the nicer shirts, the ones that Liam wears most, when he hears it.

            For a second, he allows himself to believe that it’s just his paranoid mind conjuring up the noise. His luck can’t really be that awful, he reasons, not awful enough that Liam and Harry would return at exactly this moment.

            But of course his luck is that shitty, and he’s whipped around with a guilty expression, a shirt clutched into his fist, in time to see two people enter.

            It’s funny, almost, the way he doesn’t even really register them at first. He’s too busy trying to construct a reason for being here that won’t make him seem completely pathetic, and so, at first, he only hears their laughter. It twists his stomach, of course, because he hasn’t heard Liam laugh in ages, but he’s fine.

            Right until he doesn’t recognize the second person’s answering giggle.

            His eyes shoot to the two figures, wrapped around each other in a position that speaks nothing of friendship, and Harry’s curls (so long these days) are conspicuously missing.

            Still, it doesn’t really hit Zayn – what he’s seeing – until Liam leans forward and presses a sloppy kiss to the stranger’s face, and then, well.

            Everything stops, and Zayn’s fist around the shirt clenches along with every other muscle in his body, and his mind empties of every thought he’s ever had except: _No._

            It’s a whisper across his mind, filled with horror and desperation and so much pain that he nearly winces, because no. Absolutely not. There’s no way.

            But Liam’s pulling away now, smiling wider than he’s smiled in days, and his brown eyes are clouded with drink, his skin flushed with inebriation as he gazes eagerly at the boy he’s got wrapped in his arms. And it’s definitely a boy, one with fine features and striking blue eyes and blonde hair that looks nothing like Zayn’s and he’s slighter than either of them, almost waifish, and Zayn thinks stupidly that he’s not even Liam’s type.

            But the guy’s got one hand shoved in Liam’s back pocket, groping his ass possessively, and his other hand’s curled against Liam’s chest, and every inch of their legs are pressed together, and they’re in Liam’s hotel room. Without Harry.

            _Go,_ Zayn’s mind screams at him. _Leave. Get out before they see you. You have to –_

He moves, stupidly, towards the door, like he can just leave without them seeing, and he’s not even thinking as he goes because he can’t think.

            But he must make some small noise – a footstep whispering across the carpet, a choked sob building in his throat, the shifting of his clothes – because both of them whip their heads toward him at the same time, and then Zayn really does choke on a gasp lodged in his throat.

            The stranger’s eyes go wide, and he immediately pulls back from Liam as his face floods with embarrassed color, and Zayn hates him. He’s never hated a perfect stranger before, but he hates this kid with his entire heart in the un-fairest of ways. His tongue is tarry with it.

            And Liam – Zayn can’t even look at him. The image of Liam’s arms wrapped around someone else embosses itself on the backs of Zayn’s eyelids and his stomach heaves, his organs trying to rearrange themselves to fill the hole where Zayn’s heart was a moment ago. But now Zayn’s heart is lodged in his throat, bleeding from a thousand cuts, and he’s choking, brain screaming for air and escape.

            “You’re Zayn!” the boy gasps, and his blue eyes light up in delight, and he’s moving toward Zayn like he wants to meet him.

            Liam grabs his arm to halt him, brown eyes going wide as he looks at Zayn (who backed away from the guy with a snarl forming on his lips, like a fucking caged animal) with guilt so fucking thick on his face. “Zayn –”

            It’s his voice, in the end, that snaps Zayn. Liam sounds guilty, dirty with sin, chagrined in the way Louis always is when they catch him doing something he knows the rest won’t approve of, and it doesn’t fit Liam. Or it shouldn’t fit Liam. But it does in this case. Oh, it does.

            It does because for the first few seconds, Zayn had thought Liam was cheating on him. Before Zayn’s mind caught up to the present, he honestly felt like he had caught Liam cheating, and it’s so clear that Liam knows it. Liam obviously knows what Zayn was thinking, and Zayn can’t stand it. He can’t stand that it still feels like he’s been betrayed in the worst possible way, even though he _knows_ that he and Liam aren’t together.

            Zayn pushes past them, not a single thought on his mind except that he needs to go, needs to leave now before he does something he will regret, like maiming the stranger who has earned Liam’s attention for the night, and he’s sick with the idea of Liam’s skin against anyone else’s.

            It’s curiously silent in the hall, and Zayn calls for the elevator without much thought, climbing into it. The ride up is filled with cheerful music that clashes heavily with his chaotic thoughts, and he’s trying desperately not to think about Liam with that guy.

            Liam kissing him –

            _No, stop._

            Liam’s fingers dancing down his spine –

            _Stop._

            Liam bending him over, smiling like he used to down at Zayn –

            Liam thrusting inside of him –

            Liam laughing breathlessly –

            Liam groaning out his name –

            The elevator door slides open, and Zayn bolts into his room, running straight for the bathroom. He throws up into the toilet, purging his stomach of whatever he had managed to eat today, and it stings up his throat, the bile, but he heaves until nothing comes out anymore.

            His hands shake as he mechanically reaches to flush, and then he shoves himself away from the toilet, leaning his back against the tub like he did the night Louis found him. His knees come up, caging him in, and he glances dazedly down into his lap.

            He’s still holding Liam’s shirt.

            He sobs out a laugh that quickly turns into an actual sob, and then his chest is heaving with it, like he’s trying to fling his emotions out. It’s a curious kind of pain, more like the absence of pain rather than actual pain, and he can’t even figure out where exactly it’s radiating from, but he just aches. All over. Like someone decided his pretty face or his religion or his money was offensive (the way they’ve done before) but this time there was no one standing between them and they beat every inch of him.

            That’s how he feels. Like the physical pain comes secondary to the emotional pain, and his aching throat, his cramping stomach, none of it matters.

            He buries his head in Liam’s shirt, letting it soak up the tears that he’s trying to stop, and he hates himself for still loving that damn scent.

            It’s stupid, the way Zayn’s sobbing over Liam’s shirt in the bathroom. Totally ridiculous. He knew, in a detached sort of way, that Liam had to be seeing other people. The two years stretching since they ended things pretty much guaranteed that, but it’s so different, knowing and seeing.

            _A flash of Liam’s face, hard and pale and shiny with tears that he’s furiously wiping away, betrayal echoing deep in his brown eyes and –_

            Zayn sucks in a harsh breath and shoves it away. He can’t. Not right now. These flashes tell him nothing, give him nothing but pain and emotions that aren’t tethered to anything. It’s like having three pieces of the puzzle, and Zayn hates it. He’d rather have nothing of the missing two years than these bullshit fragments.

            “Zayn.”

            It’s a quiet whisper from the bathroom door, and Zayn bolts up, onto his feet. Liam startles back from the doorway, and Zayn uses that to his advantage. He tosses the shirt away from his body and pushes through the doorway, heading towards the one that leads to the hall.

            “Zayn!”

            He stops automatically because Liam sounds panicked and Zayn’s body just reacts. He’s always been protective, and once he started dating Liam (fuck even before that – once he realized how much he liked Liam, loved Liam) it became almost unhealthy, his need to keep Liam from hurting.

            “Zayn, Christ, are you okay? Why were you in the bathroom? What –” Liam’s hand falls on Zayn’s shoulder, and he rips away almost violently.

            “Don’t touch me!” his voice splits the air in the room, and he doesn’t miss the way Liam stumbles with the force of it, the way his brown eyes grow wide with shock and hurt and desperation, and Zayn thinks that it looks eerily familiar, because he’s sure that was his face when Liam pulled away from him after he woke up. He wants to laugh cruelly at Liam for it, ask him how it feels for the person you love to recoil from your touch, but he bites down hard on his tongue to stop the spill of toxic words.

            He’s turned toward Liam now, and they’re facing off, frozen in awkward positions.

            “Zayn –” Liam tries again, voice breaking as he searches Zayn’s face with sober eyes.

            “No,” Zayn shakes his head, refusing to let Liam study him, figure him it out. “Just leave it, Liam. I don’t want –”

            “But you –”

            “Get out of my room!”

            “You were in mine first!”

            It’s childish, Liam’s defensive comeback, but it halts Zayn. Liam’s right of course, and now, as Zayn looks at him again, he sees that Liam’s angry too.

            “Why were you in my room?”

            And Zayn just gives up. He gives up trying to appear in control of this, like he isn’t a pathetic mess without Liam, filled up with love that he’s told went away. But it’s so fucking present to him, sitting heavy in the center of his body, and he can’t ignore it.

            “I needed one of your shirts.”

            “What?”

            Zayn lets out a ridiculous laugh, scrubbing harsh hands over the tight skin of his face where tears dried. “I stole one of your shirts,” he repeats, laughing again like it’s the funniest fucking thing. “I can’t sleep, so I took one your shirts to sleep in, because fuck me if it doesn’t still help.”

            “You can’t sleep?”

            Zayn shoots Liam an irritated look because that’s so not what Liam should be focusing on. But then he watches as Liam takes in his haggard appearance.

            (And he knows he looks fucking awful. The makeup lady clucked over the bags under his eyes, and the hair stylist had been surprised by the lack of product in his hair, and there’s only so much a person can lie to themselves when confronted with their reflection in the mirror. He’s a wreck, an absolute wreck, and he keeps throwing up because every little reminder that time has passed without him makes him nauseous, and it isn’t healthy).

            Zayn watches Liam take it all in, and Liam’s face just sort of crumples.

            And he can’t face it, so he latches onto something practical. He shoves past Liam again, heading towards the bathroom where his toothbrush rests on the counter, and Zayn picks it up. He ignores how incongruous it is, his actions right now, ignores it all because he needs something to do. His hands shake as he sets to scrubbing away the taste of vomit in his mouth.

            “Zayn,” Liam sounds helpless. “Why are you brushing your teeth? What the fuck –”

            Zayn spits, refusing to look up from the sink as he rinses out his mouth. “Because I hate the taste in my mouth after I throw up.”

            “You threw up?”

            Zayn wipes harshly at his face with a nearby towel, tossing it away from him when he’s done and turning towards Liam. He crosses his arms defensively over his chest and glares. “Yes, Liam,” he hisses. “I threw up. I’ve been throwing up. I’m pretty sure I’ve thrown up every day since I woke up in fucking hospital.”

            “Tell a doctor!” Liam looks so alarmed, like he’s worried about Zayn’s health. “Christ Zayn, tell –”

            Zayn snorts, cutting him off. “It’s not because of my head, Liam. Fuck. You think I just

threw up because my _head_ hurts?” He shakes his head in disgust and lets what he’s implying sit heavily between them. He’ll be damned if he outright says it though: Liam, I throw up every time I think about you, or our past, or our present because it makes me physically ill.

            Liam gets it though, and he swallows, hard.

            “Just go,” Zayn sighs out tiredly, rubbing at his eyes in irritation. He’s suddenly positive that he could actually sleep now, with or without Liam’s scent. “I don’t know why you even followed me. You looked busy.”

            Liam says nothing at the accusation, even as Zayn’s stomach twists again.

            “I sent him home.”

            “He’ll have a great story.”

            “No one will believe it. And I don’t think he was like that.”

            Zayn snorts, dismissing it. He doesn’t want to think about Liam’s almost-conquest. “So, what? You came to tell me that you sent him home? Great. Excellent. Glad to hear it.”

            “You looked like you caught me cheating.”

            Zayn makes a protesting sound deep in his throat.

            Liam studies him with dark eyes. “You asked me why I followed you. That’s why. Your face, the way you looked – it was like you had caught me cheating. You looked – and then I felt guilty. Ridiculous, innit? I actually felt guilty, like I’d really cheated.”

            Zayn looks way because he has nothing to say to that. He doesn’t even know what to think about that. It sounds like – but no. Liam doesn’t still love him, can’t still love him; it’s just difficult, being in a band together, and Zayn’s making it infinitely harder.

            “Are you and Perrie really over?”

            The abrupt question startles the truth out of Zayn. “Of course.”

            “And you don’t love her?” Liam moves a step closer to Zayn, brown eyes searching his face for something.

            “Love her?” Zayn echoes incredulously. “Fuck, Liam, I don’t even know her. Of course I don’t love her.”

            “You did though,” Liam argues, brow furrowing suddenly as he stops moving. “You loved her.”

            “No.”

            Liam’s not the only one surprised by the adamant tone of Zayn’s voice, but Louis’s words are still echoing around his head, and now Zayn feels like it is true. He believes it when he thinks that he never really loved Perrie; it feels right.

            “Zayn, you proposed to her.”

            “I didn’t love her.”

            “Zayn –”

            “I love you.”

            It sits between them, Zayn’s confession, and he’s pretty sure that he should be freaking out right now. He should be desperately backtracking, citing his lack of memories, running away. But he isn’t. Zayn loves Liam, and he might not remember the past two years, but he knows that it never went away. He never stopped loving Liam.

            “You don’t –” Liam chokes over his words, startled.

            Zayn shakes his head fiercely. “I know what I feel, Liam. I love you. I’m pretty sure I’ve always –”

            Liam slams Zayn back into the counter, a gasp of air leaving Zayn’s mouth gaping as the hard edge bruises his lower back, and Liam takes full advantage of his parted mouth, kissing him with bruising force. Zayn groans into the hard kiss, eyes fluttering shut as his hands come up to tangle harshly in Liam’s hair without thought. Liam’s tongue forces its way into Zayn’s mouth, and Zayn fights back, fighting for control, unwilling to give in even as Liam presses harder against him.

            It isn’t gentle or sweet or even loving.

            It’s destructive and needy and possessive.

            And Zayn wants it with every piece of his person.

            Liam’s teeth snag on Zayn’s bottom lip as he pulls back, biting lightly, and Zayn moans, loud and unabashed as he shifts closer to Liam until Liam’s thigh is trapped between his own two legs. He’s startled to feel the hard press of Liam’s cock digging into his hip, even more surprised to find that he’s also already hard. His moan cuts off when Liam rolls his hips, dragging their dicks together, and Zayn’s eyes roll back from the pleasure of the familiar sensation.

            “Li –” his voice is breathy, high with arousal, and Zayn tugs insistently at Liam’s hair, yanking until Liam’s neck is exposed. He licks his birthmark, sucking hard over the marked skin until he’s positive that it’ll be red tomorrow. Liam moans into it, the vibrations of his throat travelling straight to Zayn’s cock, which fattens where it’s trapped in his trousers, the pressure not enough. “Leeyum,” he whines, working his hips harder against Liam, back slamming into the counter every time Liam thrusts back. “Please, I need –”

            Liam grabs the hem of Zayn’s shirt and roughly yanks it up. He’s not pressed against Zayn for two seconds as he discards both of their shirts, and then he’s pressed against him all over again, bare skin against bare skin, and Zayn keens at the sensation. Liam’s hands find purchase on his back, warm skin gripping harshly until Zayn’s sure he’ll have bruises shaped like fingerprints, and Zayn wants it. He wants it all.

            He yanks Liam back to him, so grateful for this longer hair, crushing their mouths together in a sloppy kiss. His hands drift to their trousers, hands seeking out buttons and zips, so eager to feel Liam against him. He whines when Liam knocks his hands away, large hands taking over the job. Zayn’s button gives, zip going down, and then one of Liam’s fingers traces teasingly over the line of Zayn’s dick.

            “Fuck yes,” Zayn hisses, hands digging into Liam’s hips in pleasure.

            Liam smirks, leaning in again to trace Zayn’s jaw with rough lips, following his neck down to his collarbone where Liam bites, hard enough that Zayn hisses, cock going harder at the pleasure and pain Liam’s giving him.

            “Liam,” he whines. He wants both of their trousers off, their pants too, until he can feel Liam’s dick gliding over his own. He feels the head of his cock drip with precum at the thought alone, staining the material of his pants.

            Liam chuckles against his skin, gliding lower still, tracing patterns with his tongue, and Zayn gasps at the hot press and the cool trail Liam leaves behind.

            It’s all – it’s too much, and Zayn feels like he can’t breathe. He wants to beg Liam to come back and kiss him, to continue to his dick, to forego it all and just get inside him.

            “Jaan,” the endearment slips out on a breathy groan, Zayn’s eyes squeezed shut against the onslaught of emotions and sensations.

            Liam goes perfectly still, and Zayn’s blinks his eyes open in surprise. He barely manages to catch sight of Liam’s face before Liam’s shoving away from him, chest heaving.

            “Liam, what –” Zayn catches himself on the counter, his palms slapping hard against it.

            “You don’t get to call me that anymore,” Liam hisses, eyes blazing with rage, and Zayn gapes at him. He’s never seen Liam so angry, and he doesn’t understand, doesn’t –

            They were just – And now –

            “Liam –”

            “No,” Liam snaps, running one hand through his fucked over hair. “Fuck this. I can’t believe –”

            “Li, wait, I –”

            But Liam’s gone.

            He’s out the door, shirt left behind, and without a second glance back at Zayn.

            Zayn who doesn’t understand what just happened. He’s called Liam jaan before –

            _They’re lying in Zayn’s bed together, in his flat in London. They’re on a break from recording, and Zayn and Liam are taking advantage of the off time. They lied to the boys and barricaded themselves away, desperate for some alone time._

_Liam’s fingers trace absently over Zayn’s exposed back, the sheet rucked up around his hips, and Zayn can feel the way Liam’s studying him. “Feel bad about the lads.”_

_Zayn groans and buries his face deeper into the pillows. He’s loose limbed from the last round where Liam made him see fucking stars, and he just wants to sleep. “If we tell them –”_

_“It’ll be harder to keep it from management,” Liam agrees, fingers pressing a bit harder unconsciously. “I know. I just –”_

_Zayn turns his head toward Liam, cracking his eyes open. Liam’s biting at his lip but he grins instantly when he sees Zayn looking at him, lighting up. It sends a flurry of movement through Zayn’s gut, the way even six months later, Liam still beams at him like Zayn’s the one doing him a favor and not the other way around. “We can tell them,” he sighs out._

_Liam shakes his head quickly. “No. We agreed to keep it secret. If management finds out...”_

_He lets the sentence dangle, and Zayn doesn’t try to finish it. They don’t actually know what management would do, but they’re not eager to find out. It’s been six months of pure bliss, and they’re reluctant to muck it up. Zayn sighs and relaxes once more into the bed, eyes sliding shut._

_“It’s just –” Liam begins again._

_“Jaan,” Zayn groans out without opening his eyes._

_“What’s that mean?”_

_Zayn cracks open an eye, confused. “What?”_

_“Jaan,” Liam repeats, flushing a bit as he tries to shape the unfamiliar sound. “You’ve called me that before, when you um, when you speak Urdu.”_

_Zayn matches Liam’s flush for multiple reasons. He only speaks Urdu when he’s mindless with arousal, usually while Liam’s thrusting inside of him, and also because he didn’t realize that he’d said it, not before and not now._

_Liam tilts his head curiously. “What’s it mean?”_

_“It doesn’t really have a direct translation.”_

_“Zayn.”_

_He sighs and burrows closer to Liam’s side underneath the covers. He buries his head in Liam’s neck, unwilling to look at him. “It means life, like, you are my life.”_

_Liam’s fingers go still on his back, and Zayn wants to die. They haven’t – he hasn’t even told Liam he loves him yet, and now he’s –_

_“Jaan,” Liam repeats, getting his pronunciation almost correct. His fingers pick up their movements again, touch a bit firmer now._

_Zayn nods into Liam’s neck. “Ya it’s just –”_

_Liam’s fingers grip under Zayn’s chin, forcing his head up. Liam stares at him boldly, brown eyes warm with laughter and – oh. “Jaan,” he repeats, more firmly, waiting to see if Zayn gets it, and –_

_Oh, Zayn thinks again, breathlessly, because Liam’s saying it the way Zayn said it, and it sounds like –_

_“I love you,” Zayn breathes out, unable to hold it back, because he’s been bursting with the feeling for months now, unsure if it was too soon but unable to help the way he feels._

_He doesn’t even have time to worry that it’s too much. Liam’s answering smile is so damned bright that it’s blinding. His lips find Zayn’s in the softest of kisses, and he mouths against Zayn’s skin, “I love you too.”_ –

He’s called Liam Jaan since then, and it’s never – and none of it makes sense actually, not the way Liam kissed him, not even the way Liam followed him back to his room.

Nothing fucking makes sense anymore, and Zayn’s so sick of it suddenly. He doesn’t care what everyone’s trying to do; he needs answers. He needs to know exactly how broken he and Liam were before the accident, how they acted, because he can’t do this. He can’t do this back and forth.

Scooping up his shirt, Zayn yanks it on and leaves his room, closing the door behind him this time. He heads for Niall’s room, seeking both him and Louis. He doesn’t care if they don’t want to tell him what memories he’s missing; one of them will give him answers.

He knocks, hard on the door and then waits impatiently, buzzing with anxious energy. His erection has faded, but he’s still flooded with adrenaline, and he wants Liam so fucking bad –

Harry opens the door.

Zayn blinks once in surprise, because he hadn’t expected Harry. Though it makes sense he supposes; if Liam returned then so did Harry, who is clearly still a fair bit drunk.

“Oh, Zayn,” Harry’s smile slips the slightest bit. “What are you –” He breaks off suddenly, taking in Zayn’s appearance. His clothes are ruffled, his skin flushed, and he’s almost bouncing on his feet, but it’s something else too, he’s sure. Zayn flushes immediately.

“What happened?” Harry demands, green eyes going sharp.

Zayn flinches. “Nothing,” he snaps, suddenly remembering that Harry was with Liam when Liam picked up that other guy, that Harry clearly let Liam do it.

“Did you fight with Liam again, because I swear to God –” Harry snaps, voice going louder with anger.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Zayn hisses, barely hearing Niall and Louis going silent from behind the door. He’s focuses solely on Harry, who he used to be close to, who used to be his friend, who he used to come to with his problems. “You’ve been angry with me since I fucking woke up and I don’t get it. It’s like you blame me for something, which makes no sense –”

“Makes no sense?” Harry scoffs. “No, what makes no sense is the way you’re acting! Do you even care what you’re doing to Liam?”

“What I’m doing to Liam? What about what Liam’s doing to me?” Zayn’s incredulous and hurt. “I mean, fuck, Haz, the guy broke up with me and I don’t even –”

“What?”

Zayn blinks up at Harry dumbly. Harry’s gaping at him from the doorway, and the silence in the room behind him is dauntingly intense. “I – what?”

“Did you just say,” Harry breathes out slowly, “that Liam broke up with you?”

“Yes,” Zayn can’t hide his confusion. “Harry –”

“That sentimental bastard,” Harry hisses out, green eyes flashing.

“Harry –”

“No,” Harry cuts him off, stepping out of the room and slamming the door behind him. He grabs Zayn’s wrist in one hand and yanks, hard. “This is fucking ridiculous. I cannot believe –”

“Harry what –”

“Shut up, Zayn.”

He does, if only because Harry is fucking terrifying like this. It’s not like Zayn doesn’t know that Harry can get mad; it’s just that he’s never experienced it really. But Harry’s livid now, as he drags Zayn down the hallway, into the elevator, as he jabs at the button for his and Liam’s floor.

“What are we –” Zayn tries again, but Harry just shakes his head, stopping him.

When the doors open, Harry marches up to Liam’s door and pounds on it. “Liam James Payne!” he hollers. “Get your arse out here!”

Liam’s door flies open, his eyes wide, just as Zayn comes to a stop behind Harry’s shoulder. “Harry, what are you –”

“Did you tell Zayn that you broke up with him?”

Zayn doesn’t miss the harsh breath of air Liam sucks in, the way his eyes skip guiltily over Zayn’s face, and his stomach plummets with a sharp sense of foreboding.

“Harry, no, it wasn’t –” Liam tries, opening the door further like he wants to pull them into the room, anxious about the public space of the hallway.

“Because that’s what he thinks,” Harry continues, refusing to move.

A silent staring contest follows Harry’s statement, as Liam clearly tries to will Harry to let it go, and Harry refuses. It’s impressive, Zayn notes in a detached sort of way. He’s never seen Harry be so firm before.

But Zayn can’t really concentrate on that. His stomach feels like it’s dropped out of existence, leaving his gut hollow and empty and apprehensive. He feels like he’s missing something huge here, but he has no idea what, and he’s not certain that he wants to know. It’s like watching a horror movie, where you know something’s going to jump out but you don’t know when.

Finally, he can’t stand it anymore. “What’s going on?” he demands, voice breaking with anxiety. Liam flinches.

“Tell him, Liam,” Harry commands without a word to Zayn. He turns on his heel and marches away, and Zayn’s tempted to watch him go, but Liam’s staring at Zayn like Liam’s done something wrong.

“Zayn –” he reaches out, like he’s going to pull Zayn to him, and Zayn recoils.

“Tell me what?” his voice shakes over the words, previous questions forgotten. He doesn’t care, suddenly, why Liam ran from him before. He wants to know what Liam’s been hiding now instead.

“You should come in. Someone could overhear –”

“Liam, what aren’t you telling me?”

Liam looks at his feet, mouth twisting into an unhappy line. “Zayn, we really should –”

“Because you’ve been weird since I woke up,” Zayn continues over him, voice going slightly hysterical. “You haven’t been acting right, and I don’t get it. Even if we broke up, it wouldn’t be like this! You weren’t even in my room when I woke up at the fucking hospital! You left me, alone, and I never would have done that. I never would have left you!”

“But you did.”

It’s said so quietly, with such defeat and hurt, that it immediately catches Zayn’s attention. His heart thrums in his chest, because he remembers now that Liam said that before, in the hospital, but he never explained it. “What?”

Liam closes his eyes, leaning his head against the propped open door. “You did leave me Zayn.”

Sweat breaks out on Zayn’s palms and he feels like he’s shaking apart. It’s like the panic attack in the hospital all over again. “No, you –”

“I didn’t break up with you,” Liam whispers, eyes squeezing closed like he’s in pain. “You broke up with me.”

Zayn stumbles back, like Liam physically shoved him, and he opens his mouth to deny it, to scream out that Liam’s _wrong,_ because there’s no way –

But it makes a twisted sort of sense.

The way Liam looked when Zayn woke up. The way he’s been behaving. Harry’s protective behavior. Some of the things the lads have said. It fits.

Zayn broke up with Liam.

He flinches at the way it doesn’t feel wrong, like he thinks it should. No, instead it feels correct, like he knew it on some level.

He broke up with Liam.

It feels right, deep down, but it still makes no sense. None at all. He loves Liam. He absolutely loves Liam in the most devastating sort of way. Even on his worst days, when he thought about them breaking up, he always thought that he’d continue to love Liam. Loving Liam, being with Liam, it is the sort of thing that permanently changed him. So it doesn’t make sense that he would break up with Liam and date Perrie. It doesn’t make any sense.

“Zayn,” Liam sounds so tired as he sighs out Zayn’s name, and it’s so obvious as Zayn looks at him. Liam’s anger, his inability to be around Zayn, his contradictory behavior like he both wanted and didn’t want to be near Zayn. The hurt in his eyes, it makes Zayn’s breath catch in the worst way, because he recognizes it. That broken expression – the one Liam’s been hiding for days – it’s the one he’s been staring at in the mirror every morning since he woke up in hospital. It’s the expression that Zayn thought reflected his broken heart, but it was never his heart that got broken.

Zayn broke Liam’s heart.

He makes some sound, one he can’t even put a label to, and Liam flinches. Zayn stumbles back, fear making him put distance between them, because he hurt Liam. He’s been hurting Liam, and it makes him sick.

Liam’s calling his name, again, giving him hollow reassurances, but Zayn’s not listening.

He turns around, back going painfully straight as he walks away.

Liam calls after him, but he doesn’t follow. He doesn’t move at all, and that tells Zayn everything he needs to know. It tells Zayn that he did the one thing he thought he would never do.

_He broke Liam’s heart._

 

* * *

 

Zayn wanders.

He haunts the halls of the damn hotel like the fucking ghost of Hamlet’s father. Except he isn’t calling for revenge. He’s calling for oblivion.

He wants to stop thinking, to fucking wipe it all from his mind. But he can’t. Words and phrases and fragments bounce around his head, and it’s all beginning to fit. He’s gotten the other pieces to the puzzle, but he hates the picture they’re making.

It’s like looking in a funhouse mirror and seeing yourself distorted, except Zayn’s actually become that twisted version of himself. He’s become someone who doesn’t love Liam anymore. He’s become someone who breaks his best mate’s heart, and then makes it worse by dating someone else right in front of him. He’s so much worse than he ever thought Liam was for breaking up with him.

He’s disgusting. A poor excuse for humanity, and he should absolutely not be a role model for anyone. He doesn’t know how the entire band doesn’t hate him, like Harry so clearly does. How does anyone stand to even look at him after what he’s done?

Zayn walks for hours, accepting every thought like a blow because he deserves it.

He notices when Paddy shows up eventually, silently trailing him around. He hasn’t run into anyone, and he wonders, absently, how many other people are even in this hotel. Did Paul call the front desk and ask for a huge favor, unwilling to let anyone see Zayn Malik this way?

It’s not until his feet grow sore, until the puzzle forms a complete picture in his mind, and he just _knows_ that he stops walking.

Paddy halts behind him, not saying a word.

“Where’s Paul’s room?” Zayn mumbles, voice rough like it’s been years since he’s spoken, not hours.

“513.”

Zayn nods and sets off for it, surprised to find that he’s on the eighth floor, can’t remember taking the elevator or stairs. He remains silent as he goes back though, maintains his silence all the way to Paul’s room, so grateful that Paddy doesn’t push him.

When Paul answers, he takes one look at Zayn and sighs.

“Send me home.”

It’s a credit to Paul, as a person, that he doesn’t even ask why. He just looks at Zayn with a mixed expression. “You’ll miss a few things, but we counted on it originally. I can book you for a flight tomorrow.”

Zayn shakes his head. “Now, Paul, please. Send me home tonight.”

Paul waves Paddy away with a thankful nod, ushering Zayn inside his room in the same movement. Zayn goes without protest, flinching only the smallest bit when the door closes.

“I can do that,” Paul allows. “Let me get your stuff and then tell the lads –”

Zayn chokes on a noise of dismay. “No, Paul, please don’t tell them. I’ve already – Just let me go. Y’ can tell them tomorrow. Please.”

Paul sighs and rubs at his chin, eyeing Zayn up. And Zayn must look pretty pathetic because he nods. “Fine, let me get your things, and I’ll call someone to book you a flight tonight. Paddy’ll take you to the airport. Where exactly did you want to go?”

Zayn sits down on the edge of the bed, curls his arms around his legs until he’s curled into a ball. He shuts his eyes and sighs.

“I just want to go home.”


	3. Part III: In London

He’s not home.

Or well, technically he is, since this is Zayn’s flat in London and it’s filled with his things, his artwork, his touch, but it wasn’t the home he’d meant. He’d been thinking of his mum’s home, that lovely house he’d bought her and his sisters, away from everything and filled with only the deeply familiar.

Now, though, he’s glad that Paul sent him here instead.

He feels useless as he stands in his foyer, oppressively empty like a school when session’s out, and his flat feels strange. It feels like an unused blanket, still soft and comforting, but not quite the same as a well-worn one.

He should explore; he should search out the rooms and figure out what he managed to fill them with. He’s a bit curious to see if Perrie left holes in his flat, but he’s also terrified that he’s already filled them, or that they weren’t there to begin with. Facing the reality of the massive fuck-up his relationship with Perrie was does not appeal to him.

And, he’s exhausted.

He didn’t kip on the plane, not for the entirety of the flight. Instead he sat up, harassed by guilt and remorse and pain.

And he just wants to sleep.

His feet find his room on autopilot, and he doesn’t fight the siren call of his bed. The comforter is a familiar black – _“No, Zayn, you can’t have a black cover, that’s ridiculous. Do you want everyone to think you’re a moody little shit?”_ – and his room looks mostly empty which is fucking depressing, but he can’t face that right now. He can’t face the way he’s blocked all the windows – _“I like the morning light, babe, please.”_ – and how empty he’s sure his closet is – _“‘s not like you have many of your own clothes anyways. That’s my shirt you’re wearing now, innit?”_ – and the vast spaces where something used to be.

Where Liam used to be.

His eyelids fall like concrete blocks strapped to his feet, and he lets the water of sleep drown him without a fight.

 

* * *

 

And he sleeps.

 

And he sleeps.

 

And he sleeps.

 

* * *

 

The shrill ringing of his phone wakes him eventually, and his eyelids don’t feel any lighter as they fling open.

“What?” he nearly growls into the phone without checking who it is. He called his mum from the airport, and she knows (the way she always knows) that he doesn’t want to be bothered for at least a week, and he frankly doesn’t give a shit about anyone else right now.

“Just checking to see that you made it,” Paul’s voice comes across sounding far too reasonable from the other side of the Pacific.

Zayn sighs and shoves a hand through the rough mess of his hair. “‘m fine.”

“Wallace came by yesterday, said you didn’t answer.”

Paul’s voice, far too casual, is what tips Zayn off. He blearily checks his bedside clock, displaying the date in the corner, and he rubs the sleep from his eyes only to see the same date still blinking at him. He somehow isn’t surprised that he’s managed to sleep for two entire days.

“I’ve been sleeping.”

“For two days.” It isn’t a question, doesn’t sound incredulous, contains no judgment, and it still makes Zayn wince. It’s just, Paul’s looked after them for years now, and he genuinely likes the guy.

“I should have called you.”

Paul chuckles into the phone. “I’m not your mum, Malik. Would have been nice to know you were alive though, when I was fending off the lads.”

Zayn sinks further into the bed, the air suddenly ten times heavier. He definitely shouldn’t have left without a word to the boys, but he’s not sorry. Or, not nearly sorry enough. “Was it bad?”

“Thought Louis was going to slit my throat,” Paul hums thoughtfully. “You know how those eyes of his get, absolutely mental that one. Harry seemed a bit guilty, though I doubt I’ll get an answer as to why. Niall looked like you kicked him, of course. And well, Liam didn’t say much of anything.”

Zayn sighs, closing his eyes against the too-real image Paul has managed to paint. He’s a fucking awful bandmate and a worse friend. “Tell ‘em I’m fine.”

“Tell them yourself.”

Zayn can’t help but chuckle. Paul never lets them get away with shit. “Fine.”

“Enjoy your time off, Malik. Management will call you eventually.”

Zayn hangs up without a response because that’s typical of his calls with Paul. He’s sure that management will call him, though he’s also completely sure that he won’t answer for as long as he’s able. Flinging his phone away, he flops over and burrows deeper into his covers.

Fuck it if he’s getting up yet.

 

* * *

 

He wakes up in a twilight hour that could be dusk or dawn, and he doesn’t bother to check and see if he’s got a day to face or if he’s slept another one away. It’s the first time in four years that time just hasn’t mattered to him, and it’s alarmingly addictive, this freedom.

He wraps his duvet around his bare shoulders – shirt and trousers rucked off somewhere in sleep – and he wanders.

The empty spaces echo back his squeaking footsteps, and he feels like he’s haunting his own life, the ghost of who Zayn Malik might have been if he’d stayed Zain Malik and never gotten out of bed.

_“The only reason I let you stay in bed is because I’m grateful every day that your mum dragged you out of bed that day,” whispered across his sleep-warm shoulder while Zayn hums happily and burrows into a wide chest._

He doesn’t flinch at the intrusion, the way the memory just floods his senses completely. It’s a nice one, this time, though he can’t tell if it’s from the Before or the After.

See, it could be either now, because Zayn remembers.

He remembers almost everything.

 

* * *

 

He ends up in his spare room, slashed with half-finished paintings, and he intended to finish touring his flat in a sleep-slow amble, but he’s arrested here by what greets him.

They’re pieces of Liam.

Every. Single. One.

He’s knocked flat to his ass on the cold floors, wrapped in a duvet that does nothing to stop the shivers, because it’s all Liam. Every single splotch of color spells Liam’s name like neon lights flashing in Zayn’s eyes, and he prays he’s never shown anyone this, because it’s so fucking obvious, at least to him.

Some of them could never be mistaken for anything else – like the sketchy outline of Liam thrown onto one wall in the middle of an explosion of color – but others are harder to see – like the sewn shut lips that are definitely his own, but he knows what they’re trying to say and it’s Liam’s name.

It’s all Liam.

Every color. Every stroke. Every splatter.

It all adds up to Liam.

Zayn can’t stand it, and he can’t look away. So, he stays and –

_“You’re breaking up with me?”_

_Brown eyes filled with hurt that he can’t hide._

_Trembling lips that he presses closed until they turn white._

_Fingers digging into palms until Zayn wants to pry his fists open and wipe away the blood he’s sure is pooling there._

_“Yes.” –_

He bolts away, choked by the cocoon of his duvet in the center of his spare room. Daylight glares into it from the uncovered window, and the artwork looks raw enough to cut his skin open. Zayn stumbles up and away, unwilling to face his pain in such an open form in the daylight. He’ll return at night, when he’s the only witness to his shame.

 

* * *

          

He takes a shower.

His phone rings as he steps out of it, and he glances at his stripped bed in surprise. His duvet lays on the floor where he dropped it, almost covering his clothes from days ago. He notes, absently, that his flat is a mess.

The phone rings again.

Zayn approaches it slowly, chewing on his bottom lip. It could be management. It could be Paul again. It could be his mum.

It’s Louis.

Zayn’s ashamed to say that he still waits another two rings before answering.

“Louis.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Louis’s voice roars over the speaker. “You disappear in the middle of the goddamn night, and ‘Louis’ is how you greet me? No. You can fuck right off, Malik, because that is shit. Complete and total –”

Zayn hangs up.

His phone buzzes in his palm, and he can’t help his slight smirk when he answers again.

“DID YOU HANG UP ON ME?”

“Wasn’t sure I could get a word in otherwise.”

“ZAYN MALIK YOU COMPLETE AND UTTER TOSSER –”

“I will hang up on you again.”

“Don’t you dare!”

Silence reigns for a few moments as Zayn waits patiently, and Louis no doubt waits for Zayn to hang up.

Finally, when it’s apparent that Zayn’s actually sticking around on the line, Louis sighs. “I hate you.”

“Makes two of us.”

“Don’t say things like that,” Louis groans. “I can’t stand when you do that. I’m not Haz; I don’t have a fucking bleeding heart that’s bursting with compassion.”

“No shit.”

“Fuck off,” Louis replies calmly. “Where’d you go?”

“Home,” Zayn answers, eyeing his flat. “My flat in London.”

“Of course,” Louis snorts. “That place is your fucking cave. We hardly see you out of it when we’re on break.”

Zayn just hums in response.

“You quitting the band?”

“No.”

“Harry thinks you are.”

“He just feels guilty.”

“Ya, care to explain that one?” Louis actually sounds like he cares as he asks. “He’s been moping for days, and he won’t say a word to me or Niall about it. You two fight?”

“Ask him.”

“I just said –”

“Did you ask though?” Zayn interrupts Louis, irritation stirring in his gut. “Did you actually ask Harry or have you just been staring at him from across the room and pouting because he’s not staring back at you?”

Louis’s harsh breath rattles the speaker a bit, like Zayn punched him in the gut and forced the breath in his lungs out. “Jesus, fuck, Malik. What the hell?”

“I’m just tired,” Zayn sighs out, mashing one hand against his eye and rubbing.

“You’ve been sleeping for days. Paul said –”

“Tired of you and Harry dancing around each other.”

A pause, and then, “Back off, Zayn.”

“No,” he keeps his voice firm, even though inside he’s hesitant. He’s never pushed Louis like this before, not even as he spilled his heart out in rented cars as Louis drove, because that was tentative truth where they traded dark secrets, and it only worked because they didn’t judge each other.

(And he remembers just how much he spilled out on those foreign streets under dim streetlights or open, blue skies, and he’s shocked by how much he let Louis see).

“Malik,” Louis hisses out in warning.

“Tomlinson,” Zayn snaps back. “Look, I’m fucking sick of it, okay? You love Harry; you’ve admitted it, and I don’t care how drunk you say you were the next morning. But more importantly, Harry fucking loves you. Honestly, mate, it’s disgusting how much that boy fucking loves you, and you don’t deserve it.”

“Fuck y –”

“No, you don’t. You keep pretending it wouldn’t work out, but we all know that it’s shit. Eleanor’s a distraction, and fuck, even she knows that Harry’s the one you should be with. You keep stringing Harry along, playing with him, keeping him just close enough because you’re scared. You’re terrified, and you’re being a fucking coward.”

“You’re one to talk,” Louis hisses, and he sounds livid, but Zayn doesn’t care.

“Ya, you’re right,” Zayn snaps out. “I was a fucking coward, and I fucked everything up. Liam is never going to forgive me, and I’ve got to live with that. But Harry’s right fucking there, Louis. Jesus Christ, he’s just waiting for you, and its fucking bullshit! Its complete shit that you won’t even give him a chance!”

“And if it doesn’t work out?” Louis yells back. “If we end up just as fucked as you and Liam, then what? What do I do when he won’t even look at me?”

“Keep this up, and he’ll hate you so much more,” Zayn says quietly, because he knows. He knows that even Harry can’t do this forever. You can only be shoved away so many times by the person you love before you just leave.

“Fuck off, Zayn. You’re just taking it out on me because you still think you love Liam and –”

“I never stopped loving Liam,” Zayn says calmly. “And I will never get him back because of what I did. So fix your fucking mistakes before you do the same.”

It feels like a victory when he hangs up, and for the first time in days, Zayn feels like he can breathe.

* * *

 

Zayn wanted his words to haunt Louis, but instead, his own words ring mournfully in his ears.

_I will never get him back._

He’d stated it like a fact, an inarguable truth, but now he can’t help but wonder...

_He’s clasping Perrie’s hand in one of his, and she smiles prettily at him as they meander behind the rest of the boys. Zayn tries to return the smile, but his eyes keep straying up ahead, to Liam. He ignores Perrie’s sigh as Liam turns. Without thought, Zayn reaches out his other hand, smiling tentatively at Liam and wiggling his fingers like a joke – because it’d have to be, for him and Liam to hold hands in public. Liam starts to smile, brown eyes going soft with fondness, but then he glances at Perrie’s pale hand wrapped in Zayn’s and his face just closes, shutting like a door. He turns back around, and it’s the first time he’s ever rebuffed Zayn and Zayn can’t breathe –_

It wasn’t the last time Liam turned away from him when management flew Perrie to wherever Zayn was, and every time was worse than the last as Liam’s mask got better. Zayn did so much damage to Liam with the sham of Perrie –

_They’re relaxed on an interview couch, coming off a story that Louis’s told with grins on all their faces. The interviewer turns and smiles charmingly at Zayn._

_“So, Zayn, what’s it like, not being single on the road anymore?”_

_And Liam tenses next to him. Zayn’s hand drops automatically to his knee, tapping an apologetic finger there, but he answers with a winning smile._

_Zayn pretends not to notice when Liam shifts so his hand falls away._

And he knew that he was hurting Liam. It was so fucking obvious, and he was a coward, avoiding the subject like if he didn’t address it then it didn’t exist. But it festered instead, and he never deserved Liam, never deserved his kindness –

_Zayn knows he shouldn’t be sat at the window, barely hidden from the fans outside. It’s not typical, to hide from the fans, but their signs form a barrier that shoves Zayn five meters away. Or it should, but Zayn’s a bit of a masochist these days._

_He reads every single one as they drive slowly past._

_Perrie’s too pretty for a Muslim._

_Are you going to make her cover her head?_

_Say no to hijab!_

_Its pure ignorance, nothing Zayn hasn’t seen before, but it’s always been aimed at him. He can take people hating him for his religion, for his background, but he can’t take this. They hate him for fear he’ll change the one he loves._

_And he feels bad for Perrie – of course he does – because she gets hate for this too, but his mind isn’t on her._

_He’s thinking of Liam._

_He’s thinking of how much worse it would be if the fans knew it was Liam he was with. Liam that he loved. The signs would spew the same hate, with gay slurs thrown in, and they’d get it from both sides. How could he ever condemn Liam to so much hatred?_

_A hand wraps under his chin and tilts his head up until his cheek is pressed into the soft material of a well-worn shirt, and Zayn inhales the familiar scent, letting his eyes slip closed._

_“Told you not to look, babe,” Liam mutters, running his other hand through Zayn’s hair in comfort as his thumb strokes Zayn’s scruff._

_“Can’t help it,” he sighs out, reaching one hand up to fist in Liam’s shirt, to keep him close because the strain is getting worse, and he’s so afraid all the fucking time because he doesn’t deserve Liam. He’s not sure he ever did._

_“Perrie will be fine,” Liam murmurs. “She doesn’t see the signs.”_

_And it’s like a punch to Zayn’s jaw, the way he’s always surprised by the sheer depth of Liam’s compassion, because – he has to face it, six months into this fake relationship with Perrie – Liam hates her. Liam hates Perrie, and he’s still polite to her, nice to her, welcoming, and now he’s protecting her._

_And Zayn knows for a fact, even as he presses closer to Liam, that he does not deserve this boy. This sunshine boy with his easy smiles doesn’t deserve the hate being with Zayn will bring him. He doesn’t deserve all the pain Zayn will always bring him._

_Zayn’s no good for Liam, but he holds on anyways._

And he still can’t believe how nicely Liam treated Perrie, continued to treat her even after they broke up. Liam couldn’t become friends with her, but he was never mean to her. He was never even rude to her. He’d just pull away, forfeiting his place next to Zayn, and it killed Zayn inside every time he did it, even though it was Zayn’s doing really because –

_“Mr. Malik, you need to make a decision.”_

_He refuses to answer the reproachful tone, turning his head away from the night sky and looking down at the sleeping boy next to him. Liam’s the picture of innocence in sleep, his hair fanned out around his head in a manner that always has Zayn biting at his lip and itching his fingers through it. He does so now, craving the feel of sharp bristles and softer hairs against his palm, and he grins widely at the slight sigh Liam breathes out as he snuggles closer._

_“Mr. Malik.”_

_“I just don’t see the problem.”_

_“You’ve been publicly dating her for some time now. People will expect something to happen. Either you two need to break up, and we’ll find someone else in a few months, or you need to further the relationship.”_

_Zayn bites on his bottom lip, wracked with guilt. His fingertips, he swears, leave dark smudges on Liam’s pristine skin as he traces his features softly. He’d do anything for Liam, honest, but Liam never asks, and Zayn just takes._

_He takes so much._

_“What exactly does furthering the relationship mean?”_

He could never cut it off, his fake relationship with Perrie. It was safe by the time management was calling for action, safe and easy and familiar. He was friends with Perrie by that time, enjoyed her company, and he didn’t want to start over again with some new girl. But more than that, he was petrified that Liam would refuse to do it a second time, allow Zayn to pretend to be with some girl while Liam stood by. He was terrified that Liam would want to come out. He wasn’t ready. He thought he’d never be ready.

So he chose the other option, and he never told Liam. He never told Liam that he could have ended things with Perrie. He should have.

Fuck, Zayn should have told Liam everything, laid his coward’s soul bare and hoped for the best. The way Liam had loved him –

And it hurts, thinking of Liam’s love in the past tense, but he doesn’t know if he has the right to assume Liam still loves him. Everything’s a blur of old memories coming back and the events of the past few days, and Zayn’s not sure how much he’s reading into Liam’s actions with his hopeful heart.

He wants Liam to still love him.

He wants Liam to love him like he still loves Liam.

But just like before, Zayn doesn’t deserve Liam. He doesn’t deserve the boy whose heart he tore to shreds in a break up that went beyond brutal. Zayn had done it with intent, wanting to burn everything between them until nothing could be salvaged, because he hated what he’d done to Liam.

He hated the ways he had already hurt Liam, the ways he was going to continue to hurt Liam. He hated the hate that Liam would get as his boyfriend. He hated that he was never strong enough for Liam.

So he took everything he hated about himself and turned it on Liam, and it’s disgusting, the way he broke up with him but –

The memories have been pushing at him for days, just there on the edges, and he’s been avoiding them because he doesn’t want to remember. Not this. Definitely not this but –

_“We need to break up.”_

_Liam goes still, one hand still on the open door, and it was intentional that Liam’s inside the flat while Zayn’s still outside because he can’t._

_Zayn can’t walk into that flat and then go through with this. He has to stay out here, away from Liam. Away from the flat that is technically Liam’s but feels like theirs because Zayn’s been living with Liam, and he can’t do this if he’s surrounded by a place that feels like home and the future he always wanted._

_“We need to break up?” Liam repeats and the words sound awkward on his tongue._

_Zayn had meant to say that he wants to break up – the difference between want and need, it’s so crucial innit? – but he couldn’t. He just... it’d be another lie. Another lie on top of all the lies he’s prepared to tell, and his tongue couldn’t form it. No, he doesn’t want to break up; he needs to._

_“Yes,” Zayn’s eyes lock onto Liam’s, and he sees it – the moment. He knew it was coming, knew that it would happen, but it still hurts. It still kills him to see the moment that Liam processes what he’s saying, the moment that Liam_ believes _what he’s saying._

_“Come inside.”_

_“Liam, I don’t think –”_

_Liam’s voice and face have both gone flat, perfectly flat, and it’s – Zayn knew that this was going to hurt, but it still – He can’t even finish a fucking thought it’s so –_

_“Come inside, Zayn.”_

_He does, and he hates that he wants to run the moment the door closes behind him._

_Liam shoves his bag down, kicks it away, and the sound of sliding material echoes in the cavern of the empty flat. It’s been months since they’ve been home – this flat, their home – and Zayn could’ve waited. He could’ve kept quiet for a few more days and enjoyed this last break with Liam, but –_

_But he couldn’t have actually._

_This is already cruel enough; he couldn’t make it worse._

_“It’s the first day after tour,” Liam says quietly, not looking at him. “It’s the first fucking day after tour Zayn.”_

_“I know,” Zayn whispers._

_Liam sucks in a breath, whistling into his lungs like he’s having trouble functioning. He rubs a tired hand over his eyes, and that’s the problem. Liam’s looked tired for months now, Zayn swears, and he knows it’s his fault. Liam’s exhausted, and it is completely Zayn’s fault._

_Finally Liam looks at Zayn, and his brown eyes are wide and dark. “You’re breaking up with me?”_

_He sounds like he doesn’t believe it, is the thing. Liam sounds like he absolutely doesn’t believe it, like it’s so far out of the realm of possibilities that he can’t believe it._

_Zayn knows the feeling. He knew it three weeks ago when he was alone on the floor of a hotel bathroom sobbing into perfect darkness because he couldn’t even look at himself in the mirror when he realized that he and Liam were over. They were over, and it knocked Zayn flat on that floor until he could wrap his head and heart around the knowledge that he had managed to completely destroy the best thing that had ever happened to him, and he had laid there for hours as Liam got pissed at some club with Lou. It had come to him all at once, the loneliness and the fighting and the complete wreck they were on tour, and he had just known that he was going to have to end it. It was all too much, and it was over, and by the time Liam had come back to the hotel Zayn had pulled the shattered pieces of himself back together after cutting every piece of Liam away, and he’d looked whole sure, but he hasn’t been whole since._

_“Yes,” Zayn whispers, and he maintains eye contact because if he doesn’t then Liam will know. Liam knows him better than anyone, and Zayn’s had to practice this, how to do this._

_Liam’s not even hurt, is the thing. He continues to look at Zayn, and he’s not sad or angry or hurt. He’s only shocked, and that’s so much worse than anything Zayn imagined._

_Zayn would give anything to not be here right now. He would give anything to go back in time and not get out of bed that morning, because he would give it all up – X Factor and One Direction and everything – if it meant that he’d never have to hurt Liam Payne this way._

_It seems to hit Liam then, as Zayn continues to hold everything in and betray nothing of how he actually feels._

_Liam stumbles back, hands splayed like he’s protecting himself from blows, and his face drains of color. “What?” his voice cracks halfway through the word like a gunshot, and Zayn wants to reach out. He wants to glue himself to Liam’s body, cradling his pained face in both hands and beg forgiveness. He wants to feel Liam’s scruff against his skin, the soft warmth of his cheeks, his breath ghosting over Zayn’s face. He wants the two weeks of downtime that they were promised with this break, and he wants to spend them with Liam, wrapped up in each other and nothing else as they unwind together._

_But he’s not going to get any of that. Zayn’s not going to get any of that ever again, and he’s trembling. He can’t move, not even one step closer, or he’ll break and beg for Liam back._

_The damage is done though. Liam’s trust snaps like an over-used and much-abused rubber band, and whatever thread that once connected them unravels with the force. Zayn can feel it, and he doesn’t care that it’s cheesy as fuck, the way he feels right now, because it’s true. Every cliché is true, and Zayn’s breaking himself in half right now._

_“We’re over,” Zayn forces out, because he has to. He has to make this beyond clear because in exactly two more weeks they’re going to be thrust back together again for the rest of the tour, and he can’t. He can’t have Liam thinking that this can be resolved or reset or saved. “I’m sorry, Liam, but we’re done.” His voice is scratchy with unshed tears, and fuck, he’d hoped he could do this quickly and without tears, but he can’t do that either._

_Liam’s shaking his head, and he looks panicked. He looks afraid, and if Zayn thought for one second that he wasn’t permanently damaging this perfect boy then he would know the truth now._

_“Zayn, no. I know we haven’t been good lately but –”_

_“It’s not about that,” Zayn cuts him off quickly, because if he lets Liam talk back, if he lets Liam reason with him, then he’ll give in._

_“What do you mean it’s not about that?” Liam demands, and there aren’t words to describe the waiver in Liam’s voice, and the way Zayn knows he’s destroying him._

_Zayn runs a hand through his hair, and he lets himself look away for the first time, because at this point it’d be believable. At this point, if any of what Zayn’s about to say were actually true, he would look away. Shame – that’s what Zayn’s aiming for here, and he is ashamed, but not for the reasons Liam’s going to think._

_“It’s, okay ya it is a bit because of how shitty everything’s been lately, Liam, but it isn’t just about that. It’s everything, okay? It’s all – it’s too much.”_

_“Zayn, I don’t –”_

_“Like the relationship,” Zayn barrels on. “Us. We’re too much. I thought it was what I wanted, but I don’t. Christ, I’m only 20. I don’t – I don’t want forever.”_

_The wounded sound Liam makes cuts at Zayn’s eardrums, and he wonders if he’ll ever be able to hear anything again after a sound like that. “I don’t – Zayn, what? You said – I thought – We said –”_

_“I know. Shit, I know. And I’m sorry. I am. I thought it was what I wanted, but it’s not,” the words slip off Zayn’s tongue with such ease that he knows he’s believable._

_“When –?” Liam chokes off, and he’s covering his eyes now like he can’t look at Zayn at all. “When did you –?”_

_“I just,” and Zayn has to stop, to force himself through this, because he doesn’t want to do this. It’s just... he knows Liam, alright? And Liam never gives up. If Liam thinks for even a moment that there’s hope for them then he’ll keep trying, and Zayn can’t have that. So he needs to destroy it completely, every scrap of hope between them. He knows exactly how to do it too, and he’ll hate himself forever for it but –_

_“I thought I wanted what we have, but then I realized that I could have something else. I realized that it could be easier. If I was with someone else.”_

_Liam stumbles further back, meters between them now, and the horror in his eyes tells Zayn that he gets it. He understands exactly what, and who, Zayn is referencing right now, and the betrayal. The betrayal cuts deep._

_“Did you cheat on me?” Liam breathes out, and he’s crying. The tears just appear, and they drip slowly down his face, but Liam hardly notices. He’s completely focused on Zayn. “Zayn, did you cheat on me?”_

_Zayn bites his lip, but shakes his head. “No. I – not exactly.”_

_“Not exactly?” Liam breathes out on a disbelieving laugh. “Not exactly? What does that even mean?”_

_Zayn winces. “Perrie and I haven’t done anything, but we’ve... we’ve talked about it alright? She told me how she feels, and I... I just realized that I wanted to try.”_

_(And that’s actually true, at least partially. Perrie had confessed that she was into him months ago now, but she’d said it with a laugh, like she’d known it was pointless. She’d clearly expected nothing to come out of her confession, but it’d changed something with Zayn. Not how he felt about Liam, but how he felt about what he was doing by pretending. It’d made it worse, and Zayn feels awful for dragging Perrie into this, but he’s trapped. His back’s against the wall, and he has to force his way out)._

_“You’re dating Perrie,” Liam whispers. “Christ, you’re actually dating Perrie now.”_

_The words slam into Zayn, and he can’t help the – “No. I – I mean not yet – I wouldn’t – Liam I didn’t cheat on you, I swear –”_

_“Get out.”_

_“What?”_

_Liam turns around, and he walks away slowly. He takes measured steps until he’s at the sofa, and then he sits down, calmly so calmly. He sits down, and his back is still straight, and he’s not relaxed at all as he looks at Zayn with tears still falling down his face, and he’s –_

_Zayn broke him._

_“Get out,” he says it quietly but resolutely. He’s looking at Zayn as he says it too. “You’re right. We’re done. So get out.”_

_“Liam –” and Zayn suddenly can’t breathe at all, because shit –_

_What has he done?_

_“Get out!” Liam shouts, and Liam never shouts. Never yells, but he’s yelled at Zayn so many times in these past months, and his face is flushing now with anger and hurt and everything Zayn’s never wanted to see._

_The worst part about all of it, is that Zayn listens._

_Liam tells him to get out and –_

_Zayn does._

Zayn isn’t surprised to find himself in his spare room, curled around his knees as he rests his forehead on them and tries to block out everything.

He isn’t surprised that he’s having trouble breathing, because he swears he hasn’t taken a full breath since he ended things with Liam.

He isn’t surprised that he aches, physically hurts with the memory crowding his conscious mind.

Zayn isn’t surprised at all.

In fact, the only thing Zayn is surprised by, is the fact that Liam can tolerate him at all.

There aren’t words for how fucked up what he did was, and it doesn’t matter if he had good intentions going into it. It doesn’t matter if he didn’t want to hurt Liam any longer, or if he wanted to protect Liam from the hate they’d receive as a couple.

What’s the saying? The road to hell is paved with good intentions? Well, Zayn’s certainly in hell now, and he knows that he put himself there.

The worst part, he thinks as he buries his face harder into the denim of his jeans to stop tears that’ll come eventually, is that he didn’t regret it.

Or well, he did.

Fuck, Zayn did regret it. He had moments where he was choking on his own stupidity and where he was seconds away from begging for Liam to just talk to him. He definitely had moments like that, but he wasn’t doing anything about them. Even now, with mostly fragments of memories, Zayn knows he wasn’t planning on doing anything about it. He wasn’t going to ask for Liam back; he wasn’t even going to entertain the idea.

Zayn was going to marry Perrie and bury the future he had once thought was permanent with Liam.

If he hadn’t lost his memories, he wonders, would he even realize how stupid he had been?

Because it isn’t arguable now. Zayn fucked up, and he ruined his life, and he regrets it. He regrets it all, from the very beginning, from agreeing to pretend to date Perrie onward. He regrets it. He regrets it. He regrets it.

Fuck, he regrets it.

 

* * *

 

Zayn spends two weeks piecing together the fractured storyline of the past two years, and even when he thinks (not that he’ll ever actually know for sure, will he?) he has all of the memories back, it isn’t a complete life. The past two years are just moments, all strung together chronologically, sure, but they don’t mean anything.

It isn’t a complete life without Liam, and Zayn doesn’t care how ridiculous that makes him sound, how melodramatic it is, because it’s real. It’s real to him, feeling hollow without Liam in his life.

Except, the problem is that Liam actually was in his life.

Zayn had thought the memory of the break up would be the worst to remember, the echoes of their shouted words haunting him for ages, but it wasn’t. Oh no, everything that came after was infinitely worse, and some days, Zayn’s knocked completely off his feet by the sheer amount of pain those memories induce.

He doesn’t get out of bed the day he remembers the first time he saw Liam after the break up because he can’t. He can’t move as he remembers –

_A sharp gasp of air that shatters the calm of the room, and Zayn freezes just inside the threshold and shit, he knew this was a terrible idea._

_Liam’s looking at him with so much emotion in his eyes, and he’s always been shit at lying and hiding how he feels, honestly, but it’s so much worse than Zayn had thought._

_Harry makes an angry sound in the back of his throat, and Zayn’s eyes snap away from Liam to take in the rest of the boys and – oh. Liam’s told them. It’s obvious in Harry’s anger, Louis’s sad grin, and Niall’s disappointment._

_He thought that this would be fine, that they’d work in the studio on the next album, and he and Liam would ignore each other, and it would be okay. But it isn’t. Oh fuck, it isn’t, and Zayn feels like sobbing, brokenly like he’s five and misplaced his favorite toy._

_He turns and walks out, and it speaks volumes that not one of the lads stops him. –_

And he can’t believe that anyone actually forgave him for that. He can’t believe that Louis took his side, even not knowing the details, that Niall stayed furiously neutral as the band’s dynamics changed, that Harry even spoke to him at all.

He didn’t deserve it.

It took until tour started back up for Liam to even look at him, and then it was only to lay out ground rules –

_“We can’t be alone,” Liam mutters as they sit at the table on the bus, and it’s ridiculous because they’ve never sat round a table before. It feels official, and Zayn knows it’s his fault. It’s his fault that Harry and Niall and Louis are between he and Liam like a buffer._

_“Okay,” Zayn agrees quietly, and he doesn’t try to keep the defeat out of his voice. He’s not trying to hide that this break up is gutting him too, though he doesn’t show the depth or the width of his pain because it’s so much more than it should be. The lads don’t know that though, and they never will because that’s what Zayn decided when he came up with this ridiculous plan where he foolishly hopes to be the only one left destroyed._

_Liam breathes in and out deeply, like he’s centering himself, the way he does before he steps into the ring to box one of the security members for training, and Zayn thinks, kind of hysterically, that he and Liam are going twelve rounds on the center stage and the thing about long boxing matches is that neither guy actually wins in the end, no matter what the announcer bellows. He’s seen how those guys look at the end of a long fight, and those bruises, cuts, welts, are never worth it after twelve rounds, and he and Liam are fucked._

_“We can’t be alone, and we can’t talk about anything but the music. I can’t... it won’t be okay if we do. We can’t both stay in the hotel or in the bus, and we won’t room together, and it’s going to be different. I need – you have to stay away from me, for a bit alright? Because I can’t have you near. Management’s agreed to this, and they think it’s best that –”_

_“Whatever you want, Liam,” Zayn whispers._

_Liam looks at him then, and his eyes are so fucking tired as he mutters, “No, not whatever I want. This isn’t what I want at all.” –_

And it took months after that for it to even get close to normal, and even then it wasn’t normal at all. He and Liam reverted into a pseudo-friendship that none of the boys had ever had with each other, and it was rough.

It was so fucking hard as the band dynamics shifted to accommodate the distance that had to exist between Zayn and Liam.

And even then, it still sometimes became too much like when –

_Zayn winces as his shirt rubs against his new tattoo, and he should have left a wrap on it._

_Louis notices immediately, and he wanders over with his familiar grin. “New ink, Z? C’mon let’s see it then.”_

_Zayn goes to shake his head, heart thudding because fuck no. Now isn’t the time. In fact, never is probably the time when he should let the others see this new piece, because it’s fucked up. He knows it’s fucked up, knew it was when he got it, but he couldn’t help it. He was teetering on the edge, coming so close to blurting everything out to Liam, and he’d had to make it more permanent. He’d had to._

_Louis’s fingers are on his arm, turning it, though before Zayn can tell him not to, and Zayn wishes he hadn’t yanked his shirt all the way off in this backstage dressing room that houses all five of them. If he hadn’t, then maybe he’d have a chance to hide the ink from Louis’s surprised gasp, but as it is, he can’t, and everyone’s heads snap towards him as Louis drops his arm._

_“Oh, that’s –” Louis starts, blue eyes wide as he tries to defuse the situation he unwittingly created._

_Zayn clamps a hand over the mark, hissing, but he isn’t quick enough._

_“Is that a fucking tattoo of Perrie?” Harry demands, green eyes narrowed dangerously on Zayn, and Harry’s never looked terrifying before, but he does now. “Are you fucking joking? Malik, what the actual fuck –”_

_He’s cut off by a hysterical laugh, and all of them turn to Liam, who’s doubled over hands on his knees. His face is red as he cries with laughter, body shaking with tremors, and he doesn’t sound sane. Not at all._

_“Liam –” Niall’s blue eyes widen in terror, but Liam waves him off._

_Straightening, Liam laughs once more, wiping at his eyes. He looks directly at Zayn as he finishes giggling to himself, and he’s still grinning but it isn’t right, the way he looks. “Ya that’s...” he trails off, shaking his head like it’s all so amusing, but his eyes –_

_“Fuck you, Zayn,” Liam says cheerfully, and then he’s walking out._

_The wounded noise that leaves Zayn’s lungs is drowned out by the commotion of Harry racing after Liam, and he’s an idiot, he is. –_

And the memories don’t stop there. Oh no, they just keep coming, and they get worse as they do.

It’s like, now that Zayn’s remembered the actual break up, all the very worst memories can come back, and he hates it. He hates it all.

The worst though, comes only two days after he’s remembered the break up, and he wishes he could say he doesn’t know what triggered it, but he does.

Niall comes to see him, and at first, it’s fine.

Niall’s always had this way of staying out of the fighting in the band, like he plays the part of perfectly neutral and they all let him, because he’s Niall. It’s not like he’s above it all so much as nobody wants to drag him down to their level, so when Niall shows up with food, Zayn lets him in.

He doesn’t say much, Niall, just watches Zayn eat and chatters about nothing. He doesn’t get up to go until Zayn’s finished scarfing the food (starving because he hasn’t been taking care of himself, and Niall obviously knew that) but as he does, he pauses.

“We’re all back,” he says conversationally, blue eyes all-knowing in a way that Zayn’s never really understood. “All of the boys are back home. We’ve got a break until promo for the new tour starts.”

And Zayn gets the message loud and clear.

Liam’s in London.

Zayn and Liam are in the same city again.

Niall leaves, and Zayn tries to stay focused on the present but –

_He’s out in the hall, on his way back to his hotel room with a soda clutched in his hand because he needs the caffeine. He hasn’t been able to sleep in weeks, and he still has four more months of tour. When he hears drunken giggling up ahead, Zayn doesn’t even think about it really, because he’s tired and he knows that Niall and Harry went out, and fuck knows what they’ve got up to._

_But then he hears that laugh, and his head snaps up, and the entire world stops._

_Liam’s got his hand clasped in the grip of another boy, and they’re both giggling, obviously drunk as Liam tries to fit the key card into Harry’s hotel room door. The boy, a stranger with light hair and laughing eyes, plasters himself to Liam’s back and then rejoices when the door finally clicks open._

_Liam turns and presses a quick kiss to the boy’s lips, tugging him inside._

_The door closes without either of them noticing Zayn, which is a good thing, he tries to tell himself, because his soda fell out of his hand, and he’s sure he looks... he doesn’t even know._

_Ruined completely._

_It’s the first time since they broke up that Liam’s brought someone back._

It was fucking awful, being around Liam like that, and it was so much worse because Zayn couldn’t say anything about it. He couldn’t say a damn thing about it, because Liam deserved to have fun; he deserved to bring boys back with him because he was single and he was heartbroken, and he was in the right.

Zayn was the one who fucked everything up, and he had no right to feel so shattered by the knowledge that Liam was hooking up with other people, but he did. He felt absolutely wrecked by that knowledge, and he blames his bruised heart for what he did, even though it made it worse.

Before August, he only saw Liam with someone twice, but that second time, it snapped something in Zayn. And he’s completely to blame for what happened afterward –

_He knows the instant that Liam spots the ring on Perrie’s finger because her hand convulses around his. It hurts, and he winces, but then he’s looking at Perrie’s wide eyes, and she looks ashamed._

_Zayn knows immediately who she’s looking at, and if he wasn’t a fucking coward he’d probably look up at Liam too. But he is a coward, so he just tugs Perrie closer._

_“Don’t worry about it,” he mutters into her hair, forcing a smile so it looks like he’s embracing his fiancé._

_Perrie lets out a forced chuckle. “I just think we should have given him some warning. That’s all.”_

_Zayn just shakes his head. It wouldn’t have made any difference._

_Later, when they’re all separate from the public, and Perrie’s been whisked away so their team can touch up her makeup, Liam shoves him into a wall._

_Louis and Niall are there instantly, ripping Liam away, and Niall stands between them immediately as both Harry and Louis wrap hands around Liam’s arms._

_“Fucking engaged?” Liam bellows, and there’s nothing controlled about him._

_Zayn flinches, back still pressed up against the wall, and he’s bruised; he knows it. He deserves it. Liam’s waiting for an answer, so Zayn sighs. “I asked, and she said yes.”_

_Liam deflates. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he whimpers, and there’s something just so crushing about the disappointment on his face, and Zayn wishes that Liam got it, that he understood that it was something that management wanted but –_

_Liam shrugs off Louis and Harry, and he leaves. He just goes, and none of them follow him this time because it isn’t something any of them can fix._

_“I swear to God, Zayn, if you weren’t in this band,” Harry mutters, letting the threat dangle because even Harry doesn’t have words for what Zayn deserves._

And after that, it got worse. After that Liam brought people back all the time, and he didn’t care if Zayn saw. Their carefully constructed rule about one of them staying on the bus and the other in the hotel went out the window. Zayn knew that Liam was doing it on purpose, knew that he could call Liam out on it, but he didn’t. He deserved it after all.

The worst though, the absolute worst, came much later, when Liam started dating Sophia, and –

_“He looks happy,” Harry mutters to Zayn, one long arm thrown around his shoulder in what looks like a friendly embrace, Zayn’s sure, but it’s actually Harry forcing Zayn to keep his focus on Liam and Sophia, further down the red carpet._

_“Fuck off, Harry,” Zayn growls, and he’s sure at least one of the cameras caught the anger in his face, but he doesn’t care. It hurts; he hurts, and he doesn’t have time for Harry’s gloating right now._

_Harry glances at him, eyebrow raised because he isn’t impressed. “No, Zayn, you fuck off. Liam looks happy, actually happy, for the first time in months. He deserves that.”_

_“I’m not –” Zayn tries._

_“You are,” Harry interrupts, fingers digging into Zayn’s shoulder. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, or what the fuck you’re thinking, but the way you’re glaring at them right now, you’re going to mess it up. Liam’s going to notice, and he’s going to feel guilty about it. God knows why, but he will. So I’m telling you now; I don’t care what you feel about it. Control your expression, and keep it the fuck away from him.”_

_Harry waltzes off, and Zayn swallows back bile. He wants to throw up, watching Liam turn his head to smile widely at Sophia, and he hates her. Christ, Zayn hates her, even though he doesn’t know her. None of them know her though. Liam came back from visiting family, and suddenly he had a girlfriend, and Zayn wants to die._

_He wants to crawl into a hole and never come out, because Harry’s right. Liam looks fucking thrilled, great and happy and healthy, and Zayn never considered the fact that Liam would have to move on eventually. He’d thought he’d come to terms with that, watching Liam with his random hook ups, but no. No, watching Liam flourish in a new relationship is a thousand times worse, and there’s absolutely nothing Zayn can do about it._

* * *

He spends two fucking weeks like that, little bits and drifts of memories coming back to him, and it’s like the world ceases to exist as he catches up.

If it was all bad, he thinks, it’d be easier to handle. If everything that came back was awful, he could handle it. But it isn’t.

No, occasionally, a piece of memory will come back to him, and it’ll be great. Like –

_“No, Li, please, ten more minutes,” Zayn mumbles into the fresh scent of a hotel pillow. He feels Liam’s chuckle vibrate the bed as he settles in beside Zayn._

_“We’ve got rehearsal,” Liam mutters, lips skimming Zayn’s bare shoulder as he drapes himself halfway over Zayn’s back._

_Zayn sighs at the warmth and snuggles deeper into the bed. “Don’ need to rehearse. ‘re perfect.”_

_Liam laughs loudly at that and presses his lips more firmly against Zayn’s skin until Zayn sighs in contentment. “Fine, ten more minutes, Zayn, but then I’m dragging you out of this bed, I swear.”_

_Zayn turns and grins sleepily at Liam, keeping his eyes closed as he burrows into Liam’s open arms because he’s gotten his way. He sighs out again when Liam wraps him up, and his cold nose lodges itself against Liam’s clean shirt, and Zayn thinks that he’s found pure happiness._

They’re worse, these happy little pieces. Like teasers, they mock the bad moments that Zayn remembers, and he knows that they were few and far between as the last two years dragged on. Zayn knows that as time wore on, the worse memories started to take up more, that he and Liam became more strained.

He starts piecing together a time line, actually placing what he can remember into months and finally years, just so he knows. It’s alarming how badly he wants to remember exactly how he and Liam fell apart.

Because, as the picture becomes clearer, Zayn knows that that’s exactly what they did. They just fell apart. They grew away from each other, and instead of trying to fix it, Zayn continued to shove distance between them until suddenly he and Liam were too far away. Standing on two separate continents by the end of it all, Zayn remembers the last time he let Liam touch him, the last time they made love. And that’s exactly what it was, slow and gentle and apologetic, because by then Zayn had already known.

The last time he had Liam fuck him, Zayn had already been planning on breaking up with him, and it taints the memory as –

_Zayn crawls slowly into the bed, achingly aware of every brush of his bare skin against Liam’s, and he’s trying to hard not to think of how every sensation will be the last. He can’t help it though, because it is. Every single touch will be the last, and Zayn wants to memorize it all._

_Liam’s sleeping deeply on his back, sheets slipping over his naked waist, and it’s only been a few hours since they last fucked but –_

_It was good. Shit, it’s always good with Liam, but it isn’t what Zayn wants his last time with Liam to be like._

_“Li,” he whispers, leaning forward, lips sticking to Liam’s as he shapes the nickname like a caress. He’s perched over Liam, hovering until Liam’s actually awake, because he needs this. Christ he needs this so badly._

_Liam groans and shifts, and Zayn nearly hisses as the sheet rubs between them, not giving nearly enough friction._

_“Liam,” he nearly begs, fingers of one hand reaching up to cradle Liam’s face, and then Liam’s finally blinking awake and cloudy brown eyes sharpen as Zayn smiles softly down at him._

_“Zayn?” Liam takes stock of the situation quickly, one eyebrow quirking in amusement. “Babe, what –?”_

_Zayn cuts him off with a soft press of his lips to Liam’s, shaking his head gently. “Shh.”_

_He doesn’t want to talk, Zayn. He just wants –_

_Slowly, he lowers himself until he’s pressed completely against Liam, and it’s obvious, what he wants as his cock presses into Liam’s, and the surprised sound that leaves Liam’s mouth makes Zayn’s lips tilt up in a small smile. He presses soft, gentle kisses to Liam’s mouth, his jaw, his neck, tracing that damned birthmark with his tongue because he loves to, and Liam’s breath hitches. Zayn keeps him trapped under his bodyweight though until he can fill Liam’s cock pressing up against his own, and then he can’t help it, he moans out softly._

_“Want to ride you,” he breathes against Liam’s neck, sending shivers down Liam’s spine as the cool air ghosts over wet skin._

_“Zayn –” Liam gasps, large hands coming up to cradle Zayn’s bare back, tracing his sharp shoulder blades._

_Zayn shakes his head again, nose running lightly over Liam’s skin. “Just want to ride you,” he begs. “Please, Liam. Just slow and so good. It’ll be so good, I promise...”_

_Liam makes a choked, confused noise, but he’s nodding. Slowly, Zayn shifts until he’s not resting his weight on Liam, until he’s on his knees and Liam’s coming up to rest his back against the headboard. It’s a familiar position for them, Zayn’s thighs caging Liam in as his hands bunch into fists on Liam’s chest and Liam’s hands come to rest on his hips._

_(It’s actually Zayn’s favorite position, and Liam knows it. And Zayn’s going to go so slow, so damned slow, just the way he likes it, and he’s going to drive Liam insane because he fucking loves that too and – he’s being selfish, is the thing. Zayn’s getting everything he wants out of this time, the last time, and Liam has no idea)._

_Zayn presses another languid kiss to Liam’s mouth, gently prodding the seam of his lips until Liam grants him access and then he’s swirling his tongue, slowly so slowly, as he gets into position. His fingernails dig into Liam’s skin slightly as he hovers, and one of Liam’s hands detaches from his hip to reach behind and –_

_Liam makes a choked noise as his fingertip glides over Zayn’s slick hole. His brown eyes go wide and dark, pupil swallowing the color. “You prepped yourself.”_

_Zayn nods, refusing to pull away from Liam so that their lips continue to brush with every little movement. “Wanted to be ready,” he mutters, though he doesn’t talk about how he worked himself open in the shower, making sure he was still loose from their first round hours earlier. “Just want to ride you, babe, slow and –”_

_Liam surges up, cutting him off with a desperate kiss, and his finger leaves Zayn’s skin only to be replaced by the tip of his cock as Liam lines them up. His head catches at the rim, and they both exhale shakily as Zayn slowly, slowly sinks down._

_His moan catches in Liam’s panting mouth as Zayn’s eyes flutter shut at the slow drag of Liam’s cock inside of him. He can’t help but bite his lip as he sinks all the way down, every single sensation amplified, and Liam’s uneven breathing beats at his abused lips._

_He pauses when he’s fully seated, chests flush together as they sync their breathing, lips still catching on every exhale even though they’re no longer kissing. They share air as their hips press together, and Zayn tentatively rolls, making Liam’s breath hitch._

_“Zayn, baby, Christ –”_

_Zayn smiles, slightly, because he loves how vocal Liam’s always gotten in bed, how filthy his mouth becomes if Zayn presses just right. The first time it had shocked the hell out him, but now as Zayn hitches his hips again, he smirks at the litany of profanity that spills out of Liam’s mouth._

_He repeats the motion, a slow roll of his hips with hardly any vertical movement, and his breath catches in his throat when Liam hits his prostate._

_“There?” Liam gasps out, hands digging into Zayn’s hips slightly to keep him balanced only because Liam knows that Zayn likes to be in control when he’s on top. Liam knows that Zayn wants to take it slow, and he’s so patient, letting Zayn do it, and Zayn swears he’s never deserved this boy._

_Zayn nods, keeping his eyes closed like he’s trying to focus on the feeling but really he’s keeping his tears in check because – it’s so good, but it’s the last time, and Liam doesn’t know –_

_He hitches his hips again, hitting that spot, and then shifting upward just slightly. The slow drag of Liam’s cock has them both hissing in pleasure, and Zayn can’t help but repeat the process. He keeps doing it, a slow roll, hitch, move that has them both short of air even though the rhythm is painfully slow, and Zayn just knows that he can do this for hours._

_He drags it out._

_Zayn keeps going until Liam’s a blubbering mess underneath him, a sheen of sweat covering his bare chest, and Zayn can’t see him because he’s kept his eyes closed, but he knows. He knows exactly what Liam looks like when he takes him apart like this, and it’s just as good for Zayn._

_He lasts until Liam finally caves and wraps a firm hand around Zayn’s cock, jerking him quickly, and Zayn can’t help but match his pace to Liam’s movements. He slams down onto Liam’s hips as Liam cums, and Zayn follows after, sweat-soaked and spent and feeling so full, and he releases a sob as he cums._

_Zayn slumps forward, head resting on his bunched fists on Liam’s chest, and Liam’s hands dig into his hair._

_“So good,” Liam breathes into Zayn’s ear. “God, so good babe. I swear, Zayn – I don’t – Jaan, you’re everything.”_

_Zayn shudders at the nickname, and Liam’s fingers tighten in his hair. It’s not the first time either of them have cried after, both so fond of pushing each other to their limits, but it’s different this time._

_Liam doesn’t know that though as he continues to stroke Zayn’s hair, not shifting him off even though it’s uncomfortable for Liam to remain inside of Zayn._

_He just, he needs to stay here, right here._

_It is, after all, the last time._

Zayn jerks off to the memory in the shower that morning, and he hates himself afterward. He hates himself so much for loving how great that felt because he knew. Christ, he knew the entire time that it was going to be the last, and Liam had had no idea.

He’s so fucked up.

The doorbell rings when he steps out of the bathroom, and Zayn startles with it, reaching blindly for the nearest clean clothes. He tugs them on and heads toward his door, expecting to find Niall on the other side with yet more food.

Harry’s standing on his doorstep with a worried expression that clears and then returns in rapid succession as he takes Zayn in.

“I was worried you might be moping,” Harry rasps in his gravelly voice, “but I’m not sure moping is a strong enough word.”

“What?” Zayn doesn’t get it because he’s surprised that Harry’s here for one, but also because he’s relatively put together at the moment. He shaved that morning, and his hair’s clean, and he’s dressed. All in all it’s probably the best he’s looked since he came back to London.

Harry blinks at him slowly. “You’re wearing Liam’s clothes.”

Zayn jumps back, hands automatically wrapping in his shirt and –

It is. It definitely is one of Liam’s shirts, old and worn and so freaking comfortable as it hangs off his narrower frame. The jeans too are Liam’s, baggy where Liam has muscles that Zayn doesn’t. He shouldn’t be surprised, Zayn. He stole so many of Liam’s things over the years, and he never returned any of it, but –

It hurts in a particularly vicious way to see his body in Liam’s clothes again.

He’s hyperventilating before he realizes it, and Harry’s cursing.

“Shit, Zayn, get inside,” Harry’s hands shove him forward until they’re both standing in the entrance, Harry slamming the door. The loud bang makes Zayn jump.

“Sorry,” Zayn gasps, because he is. “I just –”

Harry quickly shakes his head, guiding Zayn away from the door and towards the living room. He pushes him into the worn fabric of the sofa, and Zayn sinks gratefully into it, fists still wrapped up in Liam’s shirt.

“No, don’t apologize. I didn’t mean to do that. I actually came here to thank you.”

That manages to get Zayn’s mind to stop spinning, and he sucks in a normal breath of air that steadies him. “Thank me?” he manages, dragging himself back to the present as Harry throws himself down on the other end of the sofa with abandon. “Thank me for what?”

Harry’s grin is infectious as it widens across his face. “For Louis.”

It takes Zayn a moment to pull himself out of his own inner turmoil and then another moment to recall that phone call with Louis two weeks ago. He can’t help grinning when he does remember though, clinging to this new topic. “He actually talk to you then?”

The complete joy on Harry’s face is answer enough. His green eyes sparkle with it as his dimples deepen, and he flushes just slightly. It’s very reminiscent of sixteen year old Harry Styles wrapped completely around Louis’s finger and in love with everything.

“What did you say to him?”

Zayn shrugs. “Just told him to stop fucking around, honestly. I didn’t think it’d actually do anything. What did he do?”

“Came to my room,” Harry laughs. “Before we came back, he came to my hotel room, blurted out a speech that hardly made sense, and then shagged my brains out.”

And Zayn’s glad, he is, but he’s also concerned. Because Harry and Louis have been doing this dance for four years now, and it’s not new. This happy glow around Harry and Louis’s newfound love, and the idea of them actually being together, it’s all happened before.

“Is it different?” Zayn asks carefully. “This time, I mean?”

Harry bites his lip and shrugs, that glow dimming the slightest bit. “It’s too early to tell but... it felt different this time.”

Zayn nods, but his gut twists painfully. Watching Harry bloody himself against Louis’s walls for four years has bruised them all. Uneven love, Zayn thinks, is the cruelest, and he’s catapulting headlong back into it, just like Harry. “How do you do it Harry?” Zayn whispers, looking away because he doesn’t know if he even wants an answer. “How do you keep going back?”

“I think,” Harry starts, his voice a slow amble as he considers his words, “that it’s worth it. Being with Lou makes everything else worth it. So I convince myself to deal with the messed up bits. I know its goanna hurt, but I do it anyway; sort of, I think, like you did when you pushed Liam away.”

Zayn tenses. “Pushed him away? We just broke up, Harry.”

Harry’s green eyes betray nothing as he stares at Zayn. “Not sure I quite believe that’s the truth anymore. Never made much sense, when I think about it. The way you just started liking Perrie. Was fucking believable though.”

The sigh Zayn lets out aches like an old bruise, and that’s pretty accurate, he thinks, because the damage he did to himself over Liam is an old bruise, but one that he keeps poking to keep fresh because he just can’t help it. “‘S not believable anymore then? Something change your mind?”

“Louis,” Harry admits. “He told me, well not what you said, but the way...”

Harry trails off, and Zayn understands because ya that’s –

There aren’t words to describe the broken person Zayn only let himself be around Louis. It doesn’t matter exactly what Louis told Harry because it was never what Zayn _told_ Louis that mattered. It was always the way Zayn deflated, slumped, shrunk, like somebody had ripped every bone from his body. But he’d only allow it around Louis; Louis who understood shoving somebody away and never asked for details.

“He seemed pretty convinced that you never stopped loving Liam.”

It’s a statement, not a question, and Zayn can’t help the way his lips tilt up at that. Harry’s changed a lot over the years, but not in the way he handles people. It’s almost alarming, the way Harry makes people feel comfortable, loved, understood so easily.

Zayn could ignore it, leave the statement as it is; Harry’s giving him that choice, but –

“I’ve loved Liam every day of my life since I was eighteen.”

Harry hums. “You sure about that?”

“I remember,” Zayn rubs tiredly at his eyes, and it’s the first time he’s admitting it out loud. “I remember everything, and I swear, I never stopped. I loved Liam, love him still, and it hurt. Christ, it hurt every single day.”

Judging by the distressed noise Harry makes, Zayn did a piss poor job of covering up the heartbreak in his voice. “Zayn, I never knew. Shit, none of us knew. Why would you –?”

“Leave it, Haz. I just – please leave it.”

And Harry does leave it alone after that, encouraged no doubt by the broken quality of Zayn’s voice that he’s tired of trying to disguise. He isn’t surprised though, when Harry sticks around. Nor is he surprised, really, when Harry cannot maintain the silence.

“I should have realized.”

“Haz,” Zayn groans. “I didn’t _want_ you to realize.”

“I know, but I still should have realized. I mean you helped me write ‘Where Do Broken Hearts Go.’ I thought you were just trying to fix our friendship at the time but...”

“It was far more selfish than that actually. Writing that song was as close as I’d let myself get to begging for Liam back.”

Harry hums agreement. “And if that wasn’t obvious enough, I should have realized when you couldn’t record ‘Spaces.’”

“Shit,” Zayn breathes, because he’d forgotten but –

Ya, he remembers the first time he read Liam’s lyrics for that song, how hard they’d hit him. _Spaces between us hold all our secrets leaving us speechless and I don’t know why_ – every syllable felt like a direct hit, and it’d been so obvious that Liam had written, documented, the way they’d fallen apart. And it hurt. Fuck, it had hurt to realize that Liam had wondered _Who’s gonna be the first to say goodbye._

Zayn hadn’t been able to record it around any of the others. He’d tried, of course, tried to force his throat to expand around the words rather than constrict, but he choked on his own guilt until he couldn’t breathe. Zayn went into a panic attack, and Liam had seen, and it had destroyed them both, a bit, because Zayn refused to explain and Liam never really asked. Eventually, Zayn had forced his way through that song, with only Louis to bear witness and pick up the pieces afterwards.

“I rewrote some of the lyrics to ‘Clouds’ after that,” Zayn recalls absently.

“You did, and then I did ‘Stockholm Syndrome’ and Louis and Liam did ‘No Control’ and –”

“‘Fool’s Gold,’” Zayn gasps because – _Yeah I know your love’s not real._ He wanted to brand that lyric to his skin the first time he heard it because he should bear a mark for his shame and Liam’s devastation.

“And we all fought our way to the lyrics of ‘Night Changes’ together, keeping fucking score,” Harry’s got a sardonic twist to his lips that should be unfamiliar but isn’t. “I swear, we played passive aggressive Russian roulette with this album. I thought Niall was going to quit, honestly.”

Zayn can’t help but mirror Harry’s fucked up little smirk because ya, they did. The album’s pouring blood from all the shots they took at each on it.

“This tour...” Zayn starts.

Harry snorts. “It’s going to be a fucking mess.”

“Management must be thrilled.”

“They can screw off. One more album and it won’t matter anymore.”

Zayn grunts agreement. One more album, and they’re done. One more album and –

And Zayn can remove himself fully from Liam’s life. The thought makes him sick, but he’d by lying if he said it isn’t something he’s considering.

As if Harry knows what Zayn’s thinking, he clambers up, long limbs a mess of motion as he heaves himself off the couch.

“Leaving then?” Zayn manages to ask mildly.

Harry nods, green eyes evaluating as he stares down at Zayn, and Niall’s always been the most intuitive, but Harry’s not far behind.

“You’re thinking about quitting, once the contract’s up.”

Zayn doesn’t disagree.

“I won’t tell you not to. I should, but I won’t. I have no idea what really happened between you and Liam, so I can’t say anything about it. I’m not sure you can fix whatever you broke, so I can’t tell you to try to fix it either. But I can tell you this, Zayn Malik.

“You are infinitely better with Liam than you are without him, and cutting him completely out of your life is only going to make it worse.”

Harry leaves, and Zayn lets him. The door closes with a harsh bang, and Zayn should get up and lock it, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t move, because he’s sunk into the couch cushions under the weight of Harry’s words.

It’s all so heavy, pressing down on him in a way it hasn’t before, like Harry took the previous weight and reshaped it into something new.

It’s all too much.

  

* * *

         

Zayn begins cataloguing the passage of time by visits. He loses track of the days, but he counts the time between visits starting with Harry’s. Niall comes to see him again three days later, bearing Zayn’s favorite take out and a casual, “Liam’s going home for the holidays; are you?” And Zayn’s never been so grateful for the way Niall just understands.

They skirt around serious subjects for the rest of the day as Niall kicks Zayn’s arse in FIFA with creative curses and joyous whoops.

Louis stops by exactly once and barges in with, “I will leave immediately if you say that you told me so.”

Zayn doesn’t, but it’s a near thing as he takes in the light in Louis’s eyes, the way he smiles wider, the way he’s relaxed. And Zayn will never understand why Louis fights so hard to keep distance between himself and Harry when they’re both so much happier together, but he doesn’t say anything. (He doesn’t say anything because he’s fairly certain it was fear that made Louis keep distance there, and he understands that. Oh he understands fear so well, because it was fear that drove him to shove Liam away. He was _afraid._ So he gets it now).

Four days before Zayn’s meant to set off for his mum’s house and a day of celebration with his family (their own sort of holiday because Zayn can’t face more than a day under the watchful eye of his mother and sisters; he isn’t ready yet) Perrie shows up.

It’s awkward as she stands in the center of his living room, looking like it’s the last place she wants to be, though Zayn knows now that she actually used to live here as well. He had invited her in without thought, shocked into complete silence by her unexpected presence.

They stare at each other for a bit, and Zayn hates the guilt he feels looking at her, a shallower version of what he feels looking at Liam. He’s just not sure how to begin apologizing to this beautiful girl that he used so poorly.

Perrie doesn’t give him a chance to work it out though.

“I want to announce our break up.”

Zayn smirks because he’s always appreciated Perrie’s abrupt honesty. “Have you told management?”

“Of course. They suggested we wait until you’re on tour, easier to sell that way, but I don’t want to. It’s been over a month, you’re out of the hospital, and I’m done wearing this thing.” She waves the ring around impatiently.

“You get papped on your way here?” Zayn’s thinking out loud, watching the flash of that ring. (It’s awful, he thinks, nothing he would have ever gotten Liam. But that thought’s definitely too painful to really consider right now). When Perrie nods, he snags her hand out of the air and gently pulls the ring off. They both look in silence at the slightly whiter patch of skin, left behind by over a year of commitment that Zayn never meant, and Perrie never believed. The ring is cold in Zayn’s palm as he squeezes his fist.

“Is it awful that I feel relieved?” Perrie mutters finally, blue eyes wide like she’s afraid that Zayn’ll be offended.

Zayn squeezes her fingers once and then lets go. “No. Think that’d be pretty fair actually.”

Perrie’s head tilts as she reads the meaning behind his words. “You remember then?”

“I do.”

“Not the context I thought I’d hear you say those words in,” Perrie mutters.

“Pez –”

She waves him off. “Sorry, that was bitter. It’s fine Zayn really. We already had this fight. Just sucks because I think we could have been good together, if...”

“If I weren’t completely in love with Liam.”

Perrie’s eyebrows hitch up. “Admitting that finally?”

“No reason not to,” Zayn shrugs. “We both know I am.”

“Everyone knows you are,” Perrie corrects. “Everyone except Liam.”

Zayn flinches even though it’s a fair statement.

“You should tell him.”

“Perrie.”

She shrugs. “Fine. Management is going to flip about this.” She wiggles her bare finger for emphasis, and she’s right. Management will be pissed that they decided to make this statement to the press without their approval, but they’ve had a month to prepare for the inevitability of the announcement.

And Zayn just doesn’t care anymore.

“I’ll handle it.”

“Can’t say I’ll protect you this time. I won’t let them throw you under the bus though either.”

“Thanks Perrie,” Zayn sighs with gratitude because it would suck if the cheating rumors were confirmed because of this.

“Ya, whatever,” she smiles, and then ducks in for a quick hug that Zayn barely has time to return. When she pulls away, her face is schooled into a blank mask that doesn’t manage to completely cover the hurt in her eyes from Zayn.

“See you around, Malik.”

“Sure,” Zayn agrees easily as he walks her to the door, hating himself a bit for how easy this is for him. He hates that he broke her heart, even if she won’t quite admit that he did. Zayn and Perrie were friends first though, and as Zayn watches her leave (bare finger conveniently on display for any paps) Zayn hopes they still might be, one day.

 

* * *

 

Management calls within the hour, and Zayn spends three more refusing to back down. Perrie must do the same because by the next day management has released official statements for them both in response to the photos. Zayn’s surprised that it’s actually presented amicably, with rather tame headlines. _Zayn Malik and Perrie Edwards Split; Pop Stars Claim Irreconcilable Differences;_ and his favorite: _Malik and Edwards: Different Directions Don’t Mix._ Very clever that one.

The lads all call and offer up random comments which make Zayn laugh, but the entire time he’s thinking of Liam.

Liam, who is at home and might not hear the news until he returns to the city. Liam, who only just found out about the break up. Liam, who probably didn’t truly believe it.

Liam, who deserves to hear it from Zayn.

The next thing Zayn knows he’s got a phone clutched in his hand, Paddy on the line, and he’s begging for Paddy to let him be foolish. He’s thinking of Liam and only Liam as he fights for an hour before Paddy finally gives in.

A short time later, Zayn finds himself outside of Liam’s new place. It’s nice, he thinks distractedly. Very homey and comfortable, as close to private as one can get. Very Liam actually, and that cuts Zayn a bit because this is the first time he’s been here. Two years and he’s never stepped foot inside.

And he won’t today either because Liam isn’t here. Liam’s in Wolverhampton, and Zayn’s not sure why he desperately wanted to come here. It was all he could think of though, as he stood in his empty flat and realized that he wanted to tell Liam. Christ, he wanted to tell Liam about Perrie himself, but he can’t go to Wolverhampton. So he made the car bring him here instead because it’s a part of Liam.

It’s not enough though, looking at Liam’s flat. He thought this would calm him down, but it’s not enough. He wants Liam.

A security member appears behind his shoulder suddenly. “Camera,” he warns, pressing a hand to Zayn’s back to guide him towards the car.

Zayn follows him immediately and walks calmly back to the car. He’s sure someone catches his retreating back as he climbs into the car, but he doesn’t particularly care.

The car is silent, oppressively so, and Zayn feels itchy. He can’t settle, and he knows suddenly, that he can’t return to his empty flat. Not again.

“Take me to me mum’s,” he murmurs, hoping either the driver or the security guy will hear him. He just wants to disappear for a bit, stop being Zayn Malik for a moment, and home, his mum’s home, is the only place he can.

 

* * *

 

Zayn spends three days with his family, and he’s grateful that his mum didn’t make a big deal about his sudden change in plans. She’d simply opened the door to him and smiled as though he wasn’t days early and without bags. Zayn had slumped into her arms, all of the tension leaving him for the first time in weeks.

Going home has always been restorative, and this time is no different. Zayn’s sisters all cheer when he admits that he’s gotten his memories back (Zayn ignores the way his mum’s eyes are far too knowing and a bit sad) and it’s comforting. It’s a relief that his family has always loved him in exactly the same way.

He’s bone weary when he returns to his flat days later, and he just wants to crawl back into his bed. He’s got another month to waste away before the tour starts, and he plans to ignore everything until then. Perhaps his exhaustion can be blamed for why he doesn’t notice him right away, why he wouldn’t have even glanced towards the darkened living room if he hadn’t cleared his throat.

Zayn’s bag falls from his hand, loud in the quiet, and he’s sure he’s hallucinating as he takes in Liam dressed in jeans and a fitted sweater in his flat. He’s definitely lost it because Liam doesn’t have a key, and even if he did, he wouldn’t...

“Liam?”

A tight smile tilts over Liam’s face. “Hey Zayn.”

Zayn chokes on a cough, and he wants to rush to Liam and bury his head in his shoulder, have Liam hold him as he trips over explanations and apologies but –

“What are you doing here?”

“You went to my flat.”

It’s an accusation, Liam’s voice pushing him as though to say: _You went to my flat, so I’m returning the favor._

And Zayn could deny it, but he saw the photos too. The headlines that ran: _Malik Seeks out Solace of Bandmate Liam Payne._ If only, he’d thought at the time. If only he could.

And he could derail this conversation, demand to know how Liam got in (except Louis has a spare key and a bleeding heart, no matter how much he denies it so Zayn knows exactly how Liam got in), but he’s too exhausted to play verbal chess.

So he just admits it. “I did.”

Surprise flickers through Liam’s eyes, like he expected more of a fight. “Why?”

Zayn sighs and runs a hand through his ruffled hair. He’s exhausted, and he misses his family already, and he’s dealing with fallout from his public break up with Perrie (because no matter how amicable it was, the media’s going to pretend it wasn’t) and he doesn’t want to stand here and lie to Liam.

He’s just... _he’s so fucking tired._ He’s so tired from piecing his life together, so tired from realizing all of his mistakes again. So tired, and all he wants when he sees Liam is to wrap himself around him and hide. But he can’t do it because the last time he saw Liam his entire life fell apart and his memories came rushing back and then he ran away.

He ran away because he wasn’t ready to confront any of it, and he isn’t ready to deal with it now either.

“It’s complicated, Li.”

Liam flinches, just slightly, at the nickname. “I need you to explain then.”

Zayn’s heart catches at that because it’s the first time in years that Liam’s asked Zayn for an explanation, and they both know it. It probably doesn’t mean anything, but to Zayn it suddenly means everything.

Harry’s words ring through his head: _...cutting him completely out of your life is going to make it worse._

And... and he doesn’t want that suddenly. He wants Liam back, wants to go back to the way it had been between them before they fell in love. Because he knows he doesn’t deserve Liam anymore, but he wants his mate back. He just wants – he wants to repair this damage, at least a little.

And maybe... maybe if he explains then Liam will forgive him. It’s so easy to hope, and Zayn’s control is shot, and he’s still tired.

“Fine,” Zayn sighs out, walking softly past Liam towards the kitchen. “But I’m tired and making a cuppa first. You want one?”

Liam acquiesces, and Zayn disappears into the kitchen, pretending that it isn’t a stalling method.

His hands shake as he hauls two cups out, puts water on to boil, and focuses on the process of making tea to quiet the whirling of his mind. Like if he concentrates on filling the kettle he won’t wonder why Lima’s sought him out. Like if he watches the water boil words won’t collect on his tongue to say to Liam. Like if he times how long the tea brews he won’t face the fact that he’s going to tell Liam the truth.

Because, as he makes Liam’s tea to perfection from memory, he realizes that he is. Going to tell Liam the truth that is, staring with the fact that he has his memory back, and he’s not sure he’s going to be able to stop himself from spilling it all out. Every little detail is piling in the corners of his mouth, and he’s terrified that he won’t be able to hold it back.

As Zayn scoops up the two mugs, Zayn’s not sure he won’t tell Liam everything.

The idea of telling Liam everything is just so addictive too, and Liam’s _here._ Liam’s right here, and he’s asking for answers for the first time, and Zayn’s going to do it. He’s going to tell Liam everything.

His heart’s thrumming, but it dies in his chest when he enters the empty living room. And, he thinks, he should have expected it, should have known –

The squeak of a rubber sole on the wooden floor, down a hallway snaps Zayn to attention and shit. His eyes widen as his mind catches up, and he realizes exactly where Liam’s heading, where Liam _cannot_ go.

“No Liam!” he drops the mugs without thought because Liam’s heading toward the spare room, and Zayn hasn’t wiped it clean. Liam’s slashed onto every wall, more drawings added because Zayn couldn’t help it, and Zayn’s jagged edges are obvious in that room so Liam can’t see it. He can’t find out.

It’s too late though as Zayn rushes into the room and sees Liam at the center of it. He flinches as he takes in the artwork again, eyes coming to rest on Liam because he can’t look at his pain splashed up on the walls.

But looking at Liam isn’t much better because Liam’s just gaping at the walls as he takes it all in. And ya, it’s just as bad as Zayn remembers, and there’s nothing to hide the artwork from Liam’s wide eyes because the room contains nothing else but a beat up old sofa.

And Liam – his chest is heaving as he sucks in shallow gasps of air, eyes darting from piece to piece because there are so fucking many. Zayn’s let himself go on the walls, every thought painfully documented and every thought circles around Liam. It’s so personal that it aches, right along his heart, and Zayn never wanted anyone to see this. But especially not Liam.

“You weren’t meant to see this,” Zayn whispers mostly to himself.

Liam’s head whips towards him, and he looks _devastated._ “What the fuck, Zayn?” he drags out through a too-dry throat.

Zayn glances at the nearest piece (Liam’s back, as though Liam’s walking away, and there’s a rough hand sketched in the corner, reaching out for him, and Zayn wishes the he’d left his hand tattoo out of it but...) and it only confirms what Zayn already knew: there is no way to lie about this.

He tries though because he’s stubborn. “It’s just art, Liam.”

“No it isn’t. It’s _me_ Zayn. All of this, it’s me.”

Zayn chews on the inside of his cheek, not in the least bit surprised that Liam realized it so quickly, seeing himself in even the obscurest pieces. Liam’s always understood the honesty hidden in Zayn’s work, ever since they were lost teenagers and Zayn only let Liam see his sketches. “You know I paint when I can’t sleep,” he mumbles.

Liam’s eyes are desperate as he glares at Zayn. “So paint something else! Why would you – Why me? Anyone else, Zayn! Anyone –”

“It couldn’t be anyone else.”

“Why not?”

“Because you were the problem!” Zayn bursts out. “You were the one I couldn’t stop thinking about, and you were the one I couldn’t talk to or about. You became this huge forbidden obsession! So this is all that was left! This was _all_ I could do!”

 _It’s all I have left of you!_ Dances on Zayn’s tongue, but he swallows it back because it’s too fucking honest.

Liam’s face shutters, and Zayn didn’t mean to say that. He didn’t mean to admit to any of that. “I don’t get it,” Liam mutters. “I just... I don’t understand.”

Zayn scrubs at his face harshly, wishing he could wipe away the obvious frustration there because it isn’t helping. His gut roils with repressed emotion, and he needs to keep a calm head, but he can’t. Fuck it, he just cannot. “You weren’t meant to.” _To see this, to get it, to understand._

“What the fuck does that even mean?” Liam hisses.

“You were never meant to understand any of it.”

And Liam seems to jump to exactly what Zayn’s thinking about because of course he does. His eyes go darker as he stiffens. “The break up.”

It’s ridiculous that Liam says it like a title – The Break Up – like it’s a major event, a world fucking war, but Zayn knows that it felt that way. Hell, it still feels that way. Zayn nuked his own goddamn relationship, and Liam only knows that he pulled the trigger not the reasons why. So ya, it feels like a fucking catastrophe between them.

“But you don’t even remember the break up, Zayn,” Liam nearly shouts, looking just as frustrated as Zayn feels. “You don’t remember –”

“I do actually.”

“What?”

And Zayn could take it back. He could throw something else out at Liam to distract him. Hell, he could tell Liam to leave. But he won’t. It’s all festering just beside his lungs, and Zayn needs it _out_. It’s toxic, the weight of everything lodged in his body, and he just wants to expunge it. He wants to lay it at Liam’s feet, lay himself at Liam’s feet, and beg forgiveness.

Zayn backs up until his back hits the wall, and then he slides down it. He curls into a ball and presses the heels of his hands over his eyes because fuck – he’s going to do this. He’s going to admit everything, and Liam is going to _hate_ him. “I remember,” he whispers.

And Liam’s voice, it sounds broken as he whispers back, “What?”

“I remember everything. At least I think –” Zayn breaks off in frustration, still hiding in his hands because the dark is a comfort at this point. “Whatever, I remember the important things, like –”

“Like why you broke up with me.”

And Zayn can only nod, refusing to look at Liam because he’s still a coward.

“Tell me why,” and Liam’s voice doesn’t shake this time as he makes the one demand Zayn’s defenseless against. “Tell me why. You’ve kept it to yourself for years, Zayn. Tell me why you broke up with me. If you really know, then tell me. _Let me understand._ ”

Zayn smacks his head back against the wall, letting his hands fall away. “Does it even matter, Li? It happened, can’t we just –”

“Tell me.”

And it’s – Liam hasn’t asked him for anything in so long, and Zayn owes him everything, but he definitely owes Liam an explanation at least.

So with his eyes turned toward the ceiling, Zayn tells Liam everything.

It all comes spilling out in disconnected thoughts and sentences that do nothing to accurately express the turmoil Zayn went through. Every reason Zayn dredged up in those long months where he could see how he was destroying everything he loved. The hate Liam would get for being with a Paki, the hate they would get for both being lads, the hate growing between them because of Perrie, the way Zayn could feel pieces of who they were fracturing off under all that pressure. How he got tired, so fucking tired, and how he didn’t want to do that to Liam anymore. He didn’t want to hurt Liam anymore, but he wasn’t going to be what Liam wanted. And most importantly, how he was terrified that Liam would stop loving him, that he would realize how Zayn didn’t deserve him and he would walk away. How that would have absolutely destroyed Zayn, so he pulled the ripcord first because then at least it was his choice.

And Liam grows more and more horrified, and Zayn can’t blame him because hearing it all now, years later and with the full experience of having lost Liam, he knows what a complete idiot he was. He knows that it wasn’t worth it, not at all.

“I was a coward,” he gasps, wiping at tears even though he’s not sure when they started falling. “I wasn’t going to be ready for what you wanted, and I was so afraid that you’d realize that and leave me so I –”

“You left me before I could leave you,” and Liam says it like it makes awful sense in his head, and that’s not what Zayn wants.

“Don’t rationalize it,” he begs, looking up at Liam finally only to see every ounce of pain he feels reflected in Liam’s crushed expression. “Please don’t. I don’t deserve it.”

“You left me,” Liam repeats, hurt so obvious in his voice, and it’s so damn close to how he sounded when Zayn broke up with him two years ago, the two memories intricately linked in Zayn’s addled mind because everything feels recent. “You didn’t even give me a chance to prove that I wouldn’t! You just assumed! Fuck, Zayn, did you not trust me at all?”

“It wasn’t about that,” Zayn pleads. “Of course I trusted you. I loved you!”

“Not enough,” Liam shoots back. “Not enough to keep loving me! No you just decided that it was too hard, that I didn’t get a choice! Do you even realize that you took away my choices? It should’ve been my decision! You should have just fucking talked to me!”

“Li –”

“No,” Liam cuts him off fiercely, a meter away but it feels like years still separate them. He’s so angry is the thing. Liam’s got this rolling anger building underneath his skin like a thunderstorm, and all Zayn can do is cower and hope it doesn’t wreck him completely. “You don’t get to talk anymore! Not when I was silenced! Fuck, Zayn! You took away everything and you never even let me in! You just closed me out and decided it was easier to stop _loving_ me like –”

“I never stopped loving you!”

It’s louder than a gunshot in the confined room, just as loud as the crack of Zayn’s heart the last time he yelled at Liam like this. (The hotel and the argument that feels a lot like this one, but different too because they both have all the information this time).

And Zayn swears he didn’t realize that his heart could break again, thought it was still smashed into pieces after that last time, but it’s breaking now. It’s crumbling in his chest because he’s ruined what he and Liam had. If Liam thinks he stopped loving him – when loving Liam makes up almost all of who Zayn _is_ –

“What?”

Zayn wishes he could look away from the wide-eyed shock on Liam’s too honest face, but he can’t. He’s too desperate for every glance of Liam he can get because he’s quite sure his time is running out. “I love you,” he whispers, quiet like a sinful confession. “I have always loved you. Since I was eighteen years old Liam, I swear. It never stopped. How could it ever stop when you’ve been everything to me for years? Of course I love you. I will always –”

And Liam looks shattered as he stumbles towards the opposite wall, shoulders smacking into it hard. “Stop, Zayn, stop. You can’t –”

“I’m so sorry,” Zayn mutters miserably, tears welling again because he’s still causing Liam so much pain. He didn’t know it was possible to hurt the person you love this badly. “I’m so sorry for everything. I wish, fuck, I don’t even know. I wish I hadn’t done it. I wish I never remembered. I wish –”

“You broke up with me because it was easier,” Liam cries, like he just needs to say it. Like he needs to remind them both. “You broke up with me because you couldn’t handle it, any of it, and then you refused to tell me! You let me think for years that you no longer loved me, Zayn, and you loved me that entire time? You watched me break myself to pieces, and you loved me? Are you joking? How could you – Why would you – Was it better?”

And Liam’s clearly so fucking lost as he glares at Zayn, and his knees are buckling like he can’t hold himself up.

All Zayn wants is to disappear in that moment, to go back in time and refuse to get out of bed that fateful morning because none of this is worth the anguish on Liam’s face. He’d trade it all to save Liam from Zayn and what he’s done.

“Was it better?” Liam repeats. “Was it better for you, being apart? Because it was the worst feeling in the world to me. It was like you’d taken away half of who I was, and I had no warning. I woke up missing pieces of myself and I – Did it even bother you? Or was it easy? Because you made it seem – It was so easy for you!”

“Easy?” Zayn can’t help the way his voice raises because fuck. No it wasn’t easy. Easy is the last word he’d ever use. “You think it was easy to cut you out of my life like that? You thought you were missing pieces? Well imagine purposefully pulling those pieces away! I had to separate everything I was from everything you were, and it was impossible! No matter how hard I tried, all it did was hurt!

“And then you started fucking about, and I couldn’t even say anything! I had to bury how sick that made me! And then you got with Sophia, and you looked so happy, and I had to force myself to let you be happy with someone else when all I wanted was for you to be happy with me! I watched you get over it! So was it easy, Liam? No it wasn’t fucking easy!”

“So, what?” Liam laughs hysterically. “You regret it then? Is that – are you saying you regret it?”

“Of fucking course I regret it! I broke it off and I walked away and as soon as I did I couldn’t even breathe! It was like I’d ripped my lungs out of my body without even realizing! And I couldn’t even go back for them! I’d shredded my ability to breathe because you were my lungs, you were everything, and I ruined that! I feel like I’ve spent the past two years without inhaling because I can’t without you!”

And surprisingly silence doesn’t greet Zayn this time because Liam’s furiously shaking his head and shoving away from the wall. “You couldn’t breathe? Well I couldn’t think! It was like someone took away my ability to think! A fucking bubble formed between me and everything else and no matter what I did –”

“Nothing got through,” Zayn interrupts, scrambling up because he’s so tired of facing Liam on uneven ground. He wants to be equal again, just for once. “You think I don’t know how that felt? I hid how I loved you for two years, and then I had to watch as you fell out of love with me and I couldn’t even say anything to –”

Liam makes a deranged noise in the back of his throat and it halts the flow of Zayn’s words. “You think,” Liam says slowly, marching forward with fire in his brown eyes, “that I fell out of love with you?”         

“I –” Zayn’s back hits the wall as Liam crowds up against him, and it’s like the hotel room all over again. He’s caged in, and he shouldn’t be able to breathe, but somehow it’s easier. With Liam touching him, pressed against his chest, it’s like he can inhale fully again.

“I never stopped loving you,” Liam hisses. “Not for one second. I have _always_ loved you, and I never pushed that away.”

There’s an accusation there, one that Zayn deserves and should try to remedy but –

Liam’s lips slam onto his own, and there’s nothing soft about it. Zayn gasps, and Liam bites, hard, at his bottom lip until Zayn’s sure he tastes blood. His own blood shoved into his mouth with Liam’s pressing tongue, and Zayn moans as Liam takes his mouth. His head’s buzzing, and his arms wrap around Liam like he means to tug him away, but he doesn’t. Fuck, Zayn doesn’t because Liam’s kissing him with emotion, real emotion and its –

Liam breaks away, chest heaving against Zayn’s. His eyes are blown wide and dark. “You love me?” he demands. Zayn just blinks stupidly at him. “Zayn! Do you love me? Right now? Do you love me?”

“Yes,” Zayn whispers on a whine because Liam’s hips shift against his, and he can feel how hard Liam is against him, and he wants Liam. Fuck, he needs Liam, and it’s fucked up, it is, that they’re both hard right now, but Zayn can’t help it. He loves Liam, he wants Liam, he needs Liam. “Yes, I love you.”

“Good.”

And Liam’s lips are on his again, forceful and sure and pressing, and Zayn just takes it. He knows, in the back of his mind, that he should stop this. He should definitely stop this because it’s not right. They need to talk; they definitely need to work this out because –

But then Liam shifts a rough knee between Zayn’s thighs, and he presses hard against Zayn’s erection and Zayn can’t help the pained moan that leaves his wet lips as Liam pulls away from his mouth.

“I want to fuck you,” Liam mutters, breath hot against Zayn’s neck as he sucks brutally at the skin just under Zayn’s jaw, and Zayn keens at the pinpricks of teeth and blood and there’s going to be a massive mark there. “Zayn, I want –”

“Yes,” Zayn agrees blindly, eyes squeezing shut as he digs his fingers into Liam’s shoulders. “Yes, please, Li just –”

And Liam kisses him again, yanking him away from the wall by his hair, and fuck, Zayn didn’t realize that would feel so good. He groans into Liam’s mouth as they swap air, too uncoordinated to actually kiss as Liam shoves him over to the beat up couch Zayn keeps in this paint-splattered room. Liam shoves him down onto it, pinning him in place by falling between his legs. Their hips dig into each other, and Zayn hisses as Liam rocks against him.

 _Too fast,_ his mind hisses at him. _Too fast –_ but also – _not enough. Not enough_ because they were interrupted last time, but the desperation Zayn felt in that damn hotel room hasn’t faded. So ya, it’s too fast, but Zayn wants it.

“Lube?” Liam demands, eyes focused on Zayn’s shirt as he tugs it off harshly. Zayn’s dizzy with Liam’s quick movements, but he goes lax in Liam’s hands.

“Not in here,” he breathes, as Liam bends and sucks hard at his collar bone. “I don’t –” he breaks off on a desperate cry when Liam bites down hard enough to nearly break skin.

“Where?” Liam’s desperate, already picking himself up a bit so he can go grab it, but Zayn doesn’t want that. He’s terrified to let Liam go.

“Bare,” he gasps, fingers scrabbling to yank Liam out of his shirt too. “You can do it bare. I’m clean, and I don’t care. We can use –” he chokes off as Liam roughly presses two fingers against Zayn’s lips, clearly understanding where Zayn was going, and Zayn opens his mouth obediently. He sucks Liam’s two fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue between them. Liam groans and then yanks harshly at their remaining clothing. Zayn’s lost to it, but the next thing he knows Liam’s got them both naked and their cocks are brushing together.

He gasps around Liam’s fingers when the head of Liam’s cock catches on his, eyes nearly rolling back in pleasure. Liam jams a third finger into his mouth in response, and Zayn takes it greedily.

“God,” Liam moans, looking at him as his other hand grips both of their dicks, pumping them sloppily. “You look –” he tugs harder to emphasize his point, and Zayn’s spine arches. Liam smirks and withdraws his fingers.

“Now,” Zayn gasps out immediately, voice rough. “Li, now, please.”

_Too fast._

Liam just nods. “Turn over.”

Zayn scrambles to do it, ignoring the awkward mess of their limbs in his haste. He’s on his knees facing away from Liam in no time, and he’s trembling with how desperately he wants Liam to touch him. It isn’t the way they should come back together, and it isn’t going to fix anything, and even in his lust Zayn knows it, but he doesn’t care. Fuck, he doesn’t care because Liam wants him just as badly as Zayn wants Liam.

Liam presses his chest up against Zayn until his cock rubs between Zayn’s arse cheeks, and they both moan at the too-light friction.

“Please,” Zayn whines brokenly.

Liam doesn’t say anything, hands going to trace Zayn’s spine up and down. They rest on his lower back for one second before he presses harder, and Zayn bends over the arm of the couch easily. His arse is on display now, and he feels wide open, self-conscious for only a moment before Liam’s spit-slick fingers are pressing into his crack, teasing at his hole.

“Li,” it’s a pitiful whine that leaves his gasping, wet mouth as Liam presses one finger into the first knuckle. “Leeyum, please, I want –”

“I know, baby,” Liam whispers into his ear, the pet name sending tremors up Zayn’s spine. “But I have to open you up. This is already going to be a bit rough.”

“Don’t care,” Zayn gasps out as Liam presses his finger deeper, crooking it just right so that it almost brushes Zayn’s prostate. “Want to feel it. Want to feel _you_.”

“Fuck,” Liam groans, pressing his warm lips between Zayn’s shoulder blades and licking at the tattoo there. He presses deeper, second finger circling, and Zayn fucks back, eager for it.

Liam tries to go slow, opening Zayn, but they’re both being sloppy and quick with it until finally Liam’s got three fingers pressing down on Zayn’s prostate, and Zayn’s cock is spurting thick drops of precum as it drags against the rough fabric of the sofa.

“Please, now,” he begs again.

“Okay,” Liam finally agrees, pulling his fingers out with a loud sound that echoes around the room. He presses the head of his cock to Zayn’s hole immediately, and then he thrusts in.

Zayn gasps, not entirely in pleasure, and Liam immediately stills, fully seated, and the pain is brutal because it’s been far too long since Zayn’s done this.

“Shhhh,” Liam’s hands pet down Zayn’s sides as Zayn struggles to breathe. “Shhhh, Zayn, you’re okay.”

And he sounds worried, like he’s truly afraid he’s hurt Zayn, and it does hurt. It stings a bit, and Zayn’s not done this in so long, but he wants it. Fuck, he wants it. He lets himself adjust, forcing himself to relax, until it hurts less. Tentatively he presses back, Liam’s cock shifting in him. They both groan as Liam moves deeper.

“Alright,” Zayn whines. “Liam, alright. Move, baby, please.”

And Liam does. He thrusts shallow and slow a couple of times until Zayn’s throwing his hips back, desperate for more. Then Liam moves.

He thrusts hard and deep, forming a punishing rhythm that shoves Zayn’s hips into the arm of the sofa, and Zayn’s going to have bruises. Bruises from the furniture and from Liam’s fingers pressed against his hips, holding him down. Zayn bends at the waist, folding over the arm of his couch, and the angle moves Liam until he’s hitting directly on Zayn’s prostate.

Zayn keens at the waves of sensation, clenching tightly around Liam until Liam’s gasping with it. They’re all loud breath and slapping skin, no words as they move together harshly like a fucking car wreck, but it _feels_ so good.

Before Zayn’s ready, he’s hurtling toward the edge, everything too much.

“Li,” he gasps. “Li, I’m goanna –”

“Ya,” Liam moans. “Yes, Zayn, cum baby please. Cum for me.”

Zayn bites into his forearm, hunching over until his spine is nearly bent in half as Liam fucks harder into him. One more strike against his prostate, and Zayn is lost to waves of orgasm. It overpowers him, until he blanks out, all thought ceasing except for how good it feels as Liam fucks him through it. He barely notices, hardly feels, as Liam stills inside him, hot cum filling him as Liam’s dick throbs inside of him.

Zayn gasps, out of breath and biting his arm until he’s sure it’ll bleed. He can’t move, Liam’s fingers still digging into his hips even as Liam slumps over him, chest to spine. They don’t move until Liam’s gone soft inside of him, until their ribs stop heaving with every inhale, until the silence becomes too much.

Then Liam shifts out and turns until he can fall back on the couch, dragging Zayn with him. Zayn happily goes, collapsing half on top of Liam, sweat-slick skin sticking together.

It’s a heavy silence between them as they come back to themselves, pressed so damn close together in a tangle of limbs.

Liam inhales, opening his mouth to speak, and Zayn buries his head in Liam’s chest, fingers playing with the sparse hair there.

“We shouldn’t have done that.”

The words aren’t a surprise, since Zayn had been thinking the same thing before, but they still hurt. “I don’t care,” he mutters, lips catching against Liam’s warm skin. “I don’t care.”

“Zayn –”

“Please,” Zayn whimpers brokenly, closing his eyes because the darkness is so much easier to face when he feels close to tears again. “Please don’t.”

But Liam doesn’t listen. He shifts under Zayn, sliding out and away until he’s standing. “Zayn...”

Zayn makes himself look, tears already forming as he takes in the devastation on Liam’s face, and he knows. He just knows, even before Liam’s reaching for his clothes and tugging them on. Liam’s leaving.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” Liam repeats as he yanks on his jeans, eyes downcast like he can’t bear to look at Zayn’s naked form, curled into a ball on the couch. “We really –”

“I’m sorry,” Zayn croaks out, happy glow gone so that now he’s just sweaty and miserable. He feels gross, exposed, _used._ He’s never felt so awful in front of Liam before.

(But a part of him is whispering that he deserves this. He deserves this pain and heartbreak and this awful feeling of being used because that’s what he did to Liam. He doesn’t deserve anything more).

Liam stills and looks at him, actually looks at him, and he’s cursing. He drops to his knees, arms wrapping around Zayn, and Zayn just loses it. He burrows into Liam, sobbing and heaving until his body jolts with every breath because he’s losing Liam. He’s still losing Liam, and he’s naked and he’s alone and he’s broken.

He’s so broken.

“Zayn, Zayn, Zayn,” Liam’s whispering into his hair, large hand rubbing soothingly up and down Zayn’s back like he used to do, and it hurts.

“I know it was a mistake,” Zayn hiccups, forcing the words up his raw throat. “I know we shouldn’t have – But Liam I’m so sorry. Please, I’m just so sorry.”

Liam withdraws, still kneeling on the ground with his jeans on and his shoes haphazardly tugged on. He’s shirtless, but he’s not looking at Zayn as he scrubs a hand through his hair. “I know you are,” he whispers. “Fuck, Zayn, I know, but I –”

Zayn lets out a soundless sob that curves his mouth into an exclamation of silent pain. His eyes squeeze close because he hates this. He hates this so much.

“No, Zayn,” Liam’s wrecked voice pulls him back, along with Liam’s hand cupping his jaw. Liam’s eyes are brown and watery and so fucking earnest as he breaks in a whole new way in front of Zayn, and Zayn didn’t even know it was possible to break in so many different ways. “I’m not – This isn’t – I just can’t right now, alright? We shouldn’t have – But I just missed you so much and you said that you love me –”

“I do,” Zayn can’t help but whimper, pressing into Liam’s palm. “I really do love you.”

“I know,” Liam sighs, blinking back tears. “I think... I get that now. It’s just – it’s a lot to sort out Zayn and I –”

“Please don’t leave,” Zayn turns his eyes down as he begs because he knows. He knows that Liam’s going to regardless, but he just can’t keep the words in. “I’m so sorry, and I’ll tell you anything. Please just don’t leave. Stay.”

Liam lets out a breathy cry, and his fingers spasm against Zayn’s face. “I can’t. Not right now, Zayn. Please, I just – I can’t. I need to think. I need...”

“Don’t leave me,” and it’s so pathetically broken that Liam gives in and cradles Zayn to him again. Zayn caves into it immediately, a sucker for punishment, and his fingers clutch uselessly at Liam’s bare skin, digging into his chest.

“I just need time,” Liam whispers into his hair. “I swear I just need time to process, Zayn. I know you’re sorry, but I can’t forgive you yet. I can’t – Not yet. I just need time.”

And it’s fair. It’s more than fair, what Liam’s asking of him, but Zayn doesn’t want him to go. He doesn’t want Liam to leave him because he left Liam before, and he’s terrified. He’s terrified that if Liam leaves, he’ll realize that he should never forgive Zayn.

But he owes Liam. He owes Liam so much. Reluctantly, Zayn uncurls his fingers and drags his hands away from Liam’s chest. He pulls back, eyes downcast. “You’re right,” he manages, voice thick with unshed tears. “You should... ya. You can go. I shouldn’t have –”

Liam makes a wounded noise low in his throat, and his fingers are tipping Zayn’s chin up until they have to meet eyes. Liam looks so sad, sad but determined. “We’ll figure this out,” he promises. “I swear, Zayn.”

Zayn nods dumbly, and he doesn’t stop Liam when he stands. He still can’t watch though as Liam drags his shirt over his head and makes to go. He counts Liam’s footsteps, his heart cracking with every single one. His stomach turns, and he feels like heaving again because this is his worst nightmare. Liam’s leaving him, and it doesn’t matter that it might not be permanent. The possibility is still there, that Liam might never come back.

And it’s exactly what Zayn feared before – Liam leaving him.

Just as Liam reaches the doorway, Zayn calls out.

“I’ll be here.”

Liam freezes in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder.

Zayn makes himself meet Liam’s gaze, determination gleaming in his eyes, even as he curls around himself, huddling into the couch. “I’ll be right here, Li. When you decide – whatever you decide – I’ll be waiting, ya? For you, if you.... I’ll be here. Just let me know.”

And it’s a weighty promise, and Zayn hopes that Liam understands that.

Liam’s eyes are filling with rapid tears that he doesn’t quite let fall as he gives one jerky nod like he does, like he knows exactly how much Zayn means it.

And then he’s out the door and down the hall, and Zayn doesn’t let himself listen for the slam of the front door. He buries himself in his sofa instead, muffling his sobs in the fabric that still smells of sex and heartbreak.

And Zayn tries not to worry, tries not to crumble into dust as he wonders if Liam will. He meant what he said, is the thing. He’ll be here, right here, waiting for Liam. And it doesn’t matter how long it takes or if Liam decides that he doesn’t want this. Because Zayn doesn’t want anyone else. He’ll never want anyone else. So he’ll keep waiting for Liam. He’ll always wait for Liam until Liam tells him not to or until Liam decides that he wants Zayn.

All Liam has to do is let him know.


	4. Part IV: On the Road Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so this is actually complete now. It took me probably about three months to finish, and I'm actually a bit proud of it. Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you thought!
> 
> xx Taylor

Liam doesn’t forgive him.

Zayn’s not sure what made him think that Liam would (except that Liam always has in the past, always, no matter what Zayn did) but Liam doesn’t.

Zayn waits and waits and waits, all alone at his flat, just waiting for Liam to _let him know_ but Liam never does, and finally, after a week, Zayn gets it.

He understands that this silence is Liam letting him know after all.

And he swore that he’d be fine with that too, that it wouldn’t matter if Liam decided that he didn’t want Zayn, because Zayn would always be there for Liam, waiting. But he honestly thought that Liam would forgive him, and he’s lost with the knowledge that Liam doesn’t.

So Zayn gets outrageously drunk a few times, and he chain smokes until he’s sure he’s going to get lung cancer, and he lets himself fall apart for three days, and then he pulls himself back together.

He pulls himself back together and calls management, who reprimand him of course but fill him in anyways. And then he shifts back into Zayn Malik, one fifth of world famous boy band One Direction, and it’s like everything else sort of fades away.

The rest of their time off passes in a blur until they’re rehearsing, and Zayn would be a fucking liar if he said that his heart didn’t stop beating when Liam walked into their new rehearsing space that first day. He’d be a liar if he said that he didn’t hope outrageously that Liam would come to him immediately and wrap his arms around Zayn and whisper the words Zayn was so desperate to hear – _I forgive you._

But that didn’t happen.

Liam walked in that first day, and he shot Zayn a short smile that looked mostly forced, and Zayn made himself swallow back the sudden tears because he deserved it. He deserved for Liam to hate him, and he deserved to suffer through it.

After the rehearsal (which went surprisingly well, all things considered) the other three boys had filed out as though by agreement, and Liam stayed. Zayn – his damn optimist’s heart cursed straight to hell – let himself hope again but –

“I haven’t forgiven you yet.”

Liam was straight to the point at least, and Zayn nodded, because ya, he deserved that.

But then Liam had continued, and it had... well it had seemed almost hopeful.

“I haven’t forgiven you yet, but I’d like to be mates again. I can’t do this distance anymore Zayn. Not for another tour. I need – I just want us to be normal.”

And Zayn had agreed instantly of course, because isn’t that what he had originally promised himself? Didn’t he originally want to erase it all and go back to the beginning?

(He did, but he was lying to himself and he knows it. Fuck, Zayn knows that he can’t actually do this. But he doesn’t say anything, because he owes Liam. He owes Liam everything).

So that was that. Zayn and Liam gradually shifted back into a friendship that, while not exactly like how they had been before, was easier on everybody. They smiled, they laughed, they joked. The only rule, unspoken but also unbroken, was no touching.

Zayn pretended that it didn’t gut him inside every time he started to reach out to Liam only to jerk back. He pretended that it didn’t cut every time Liam pretended not to notice.

“Yo, Malik,” Niall snaps his fingers in front of Zayn’s face in the present.

Zayn startles and then scowls. “What?”

Niall raises a pale eyebrow but doesn’t comment. “We’re here, mate. Stop brooding.”

Zayn looks out the window, and sure enough, the car has stopped outside their hotel. Just the first of many, many hotels and many, many venues, because this is it. They’re on tour again. All those rehearsals where he and Liam bridged a tentative friendship, and this is what it was leading up to. Zayn’s not sure their efforts will be enough. Tour – it’s always a whole fucking different world.

“Where are Louis and Harry?” the ‘and Liam’ goes unspoken.

“Flew together didn’t they?” Niall shoots back, knowing grin dancing across his face.

Zayn blinks in surprise. “No shit.” Harry and Louis haven’t spent any time alone together in public in years; they haven’t been _allowed_ to. So that’s... Christ that’s a definite step forward.

“If you looked past your little bubble of misery, you’d see. Things are changing Malik,” Niall scoots past him, clapping a hand on his shoulder as he bounces from the car.

Zayn winces slightly at the small reprimand, and he gets it. He gets what Niall’s saying, and he’s going to try. He truly is going to try and get over this. He just wishes... well, he wishes this tour was going to be more like Up All Night, when he and Liam were so happy together. But Liam hasn’t forgiven him yet, and Zayn can’t do anything about that as he also exits the car, hyper aware that he’s stepping into months of being in close proximity with Liam.

He steps out into the Australian heat and tries not to grimace too harshly at the glaring sun. He can’t help his frown though. A pair of sunglasses appear suddenly in front of his nose, and he gapes because –

“Here,” Liam says, dangling the sunglasses with a small smile and his duffel thrown over his shoulder. “You always forget.”

And Zayn takes the offering, yelling at his stupid heart to calm down because Liam’s always nice and it doesn’t mean anything. They’re just sunglasses. It’s just... this is something they used to do. It was a running joke in their relationship, how many pairs of sunglasses Liam owned because he lent them to Zayn who inevitably lost them. He can’t hide his surprise that Liam would remember, that Liam would bring sunglasses for him, that Liam would keep this old tradition up.

If Liam sees Zayn’s shock before Zayn slips the shades on, he doesn’t say anything. He just hoists his bag higher over his shoulder and grins slightly at Zayn before heading inside.

After a moment, Zayn follows, and his heart’s lighter even though he tries to convince himself not to get his hopes up. But it’s Liam, and Zayn’s never had any control over the way he feels about Liam so his traitorous heart hopes anyways.

 

* * *

 

The first show is bearing down on them, and Zayn’s a nervous wreck. His anxiety has only gotten worse over the years, and he knows that he should probably see someone about it (they’re all a bit fucked from living in the spotlight so the idea of seeing someone doesn’t feel like a huge deal), but he’s never needed the pills before. He’s always had –

“Nervous?”

Zayn jerks up in surprise, blinking stupidly at Liam who grins down at him. They’re backstage, already dressed and styled, just waiting for the call. Liam looks great (of bloody course he does), and he’s _there._

It’s not that he hasn’t been around because he has. So far they’ve been doing well, really well. They all hung out in Harry and Louis’s room last night and Liam didn’t sit next to Zayn like they would have before, but they interacted. It was normal, very close to normal at least.

But this is – It’s different because Liam doesn’t _have_ to be near Zayn right now.

“No,” Zayn replies finally, forcing a small smile.

Liam laughs, eyes crinkling around the corners, and Zayn has to muffle the way his breath hitches at the sight. “Liar.”

And Zayn has to return the smile because Liam still knows him. Liam knows him better than any other person, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t relieved about that. Relieved but sad too because Liam knows he’s nervous, ya, but before he would have – And now he won’t.

Except Liam’s still looking at him, smile tilted at the corners. “Do you want –?”

Zayn’s shocked, mouth gaping, but he’s blurting, “I – ya. If you – Are you –?” before Liam can second guess his offer.

Liam snorts at Zayn’s fumbled sentences. “Budge over then,” he knocks Zayn’s knees until Zayn scoots to the side on the couch, and Liam eases himself into the gap. He wraps an arm around Zayn’s shoulders easily and runs his hand up and down Zayn’s back like he used to.

Zayn melts into it, calming down instantly, and he doesn’t think before he’s burying himself into Liam’s side. Liam doesn’t wince away though; he just laughs shortly and presses harder against Zayn’s spine to soothe him.

(And it’s so familiar, a preshow ritual they established even before they got together because Liam could manage to calm Zayn down when nothing else could).

“Thanks,” Zayn mutters after a moment, words muffled by the collar of Liam’s shirt.

“Of course,” Liam mutters back like it means nothing, and maybe it doesn’t. Maybe Liam is just trying to get them back to the X Factor days, best mates and nothing more.

But to Zayn, this means a lot.

 

* * *

 

The Australia shows pass in a blur of familiar moments between Liam and Zayn. They goof around on stage like they used to, and it’s not an act. It’s natural, easy as breathing almost, and Zayn’s trying to convince himself that it’ll be enough. It should be enough, the way Liam’s laughing with him again, becoming the boy that Zayn fell for.

(It’s not enough though, and Zayn only admits that to himself when he’s alone at night in a hotel bed that somehow feels too big because Liam’s on the bus).

It’s not only onstage that they go back to how they were though. They spend time together off stage as well, and Zayn knows that the lads are curious. They try not to stare as Liam settles next to Zayn on couches when they all pile together, but Zayn wants them to stare because then he’ll have proof. He thinks he’s going to need proof that this was real. He needs someone to document the way that Liam starts playing with his new haircut, the way he compliments the buzzed sides while rubbing his palms over the bristles. He needs photographs of the two of them standing side by side as Liam laughs at a pathetic joke, but the only proof he gets is the way the others react.

Niall’s eyebrows shoot for his hair the day that Liam flops onto the couch with his head in Zayn’s lap. Louis and Harry abruptly stop talking the day they walk onto the bus to see Liam and Zayn crowded onto one bunk and pouring over a new comic together. Paul stutters when he comes round to grab them, and Liam’s sprawled in Zayn’s bed casual as anything.

And Zayn wants to scream.

He wants to talk to them about it, demand to know if it seems the same to them as it does to him. Because to him it feels like they’re dating. It feels like they’re together again. It feels... it feels like what he wants.

He doesn’t ask the others though. He keeps those thoughts to himself because Liam still hasn’t let him know. He hasn’t said that he’s forgiven Zayn, and it’s not quite the same. It isn’t exactly like they’re dating again, so he tries to deflate his eager heart.

(He’s got no control when it comes to Liam though, and yes, he knows that the song is written for Harry – fucking Louis honestly – but it fits him so well right now, itching to just pounce on Liam and press for what he wants).

But he has to wait. He has to wait for Liam to let him know.

           

* * *

 

“Go away Louis,” Zayn laughs, shoving Louis off of him as they all stumble punch-drunk into the dressing room. They’ve just finished their last show in Australia, and they’re all a bit high from the adrenaline rush of being onstage. They have three days until their next show in Japan, and Louis is determined to use that time to his advantage. “I already said –”

“Zayn,” Louis whines throwing himself once more at Zayn and wrapping his arms around him tightly.

“Fucking octopus,” Zayn mutters trying and failing to maneuver out of Louis’s hold.

Louis grins. “Come out with us, and I’ll stop. I won’t ever both you again, pinky promise.”

“Want a broken pinky mate?” Niall chortles, stripping his stage clothes off as he watches them in amusement. “Because we know you won’t keep that promise, and Zayn’ll definitely break your pinky.”

Zayn grins widely as Louis pouts. “Harry won’t let him.”

Liam laughs as he tugs his street shirt on. “Like Harry’s such great protection?”

They all glance at Harry, long and lean and spindly. “Hey,” Harry protests buttoning half of the buttons on his loud shirt. “I could take Zayn, especially if Louis’s hands are at stake. I need those for –”

“Don’t,” Zayn warns flatly. “It’s bad enough that neither of you can be quiet while fucking. We don’t need the details.”

“Don’t be jealous,” Louis sings, dancing away to smack a loud kiss to Harry’s grinning cheek, right over his dimple. “We can’t help that we’re fucking fantastic in bed –”

“Sound like a bad porno, man,” Niall interrupts.

Louis salutes him with a middle finger. “Jealous,” he teases. “You could always join Horan.”

Harry snorts, large shoulders hunched to fit under the arm Louis has wrapped around him. “A threesome, Lou, really?”

“It could be fun,” Louis protests, mad blue eyes sparkling. “We should, tonight –”

“Great,” Zayn huffs, tugging his own shirt off. He’s craving the soft comfort of his hotel bed and worn clothes. “Have a threesome and stop harassing me about going out.”

Louis is back at his side in an instant, gluing himself to Zayn even though Zayn’s now shirtless. “Never!”

Zayn groans as Liam chuckles. He meets Liam’s warm brown eyes across the room. “Just come out with us, man,” Liam advises, crossing defined arms over a broad chest.

Zayn’s heart thumps even as he makes himself shoot Liam a grin. He doesn’t say what he’s thinking (that he can’t go out with Liam because he won’t be able to stand watching Liam dance with someone else, smile at someone else, possibly bring someone else back because Liam still hasn’t said –). Instead Zayn shoves Louis away again.

“I’m tired –” he starts.

“Zayn!” Louis exclaims suddenly. Zayn turns to him in exasperation only to find Louis’s eyes zeroed in on his bicep. “No fucking way!”

Zayn slaps a hand over his arm instantly, heart sinking as he thinks, Oh fuck –

(And it’s ridiculously familiar, Louis stupidly pointing out a change in the ink on his arm, and Zayn’s haunted by how awful the last time was and what happened after – how Liam started bringing random one-offs around after Louis pointed out the Perrie tattoo – and he doesn’t want a repeat performance, not at all).

Louis’s impatient fingers pry his hand away. “What’s this?” he demands. Zayn opens his mouth to tell Louis to drop it, but Louis’s already proclaiming, “She’s gone!”

And Zayn can feel the weight of four stares on his tattooed skin. They all look, and Zayn fights the urge to cover his arm because it’s too late anyways. He knew they’d find out eventually, it’s in an obvious place after all, but Zayn had hoped – He’d made sure to keep it covered so far, but he’s so tired tonight that he forgot and –

The Perrie tattoo is technically still there, but it’s buried now under three new pieces of dark ink, and you can’t tell what was once there. Zayn had thought about getting it actually removed, but in the end he’d just wanted it gone as soon as possible. He’d picked the three new pieces on his birthday and paid a ridiculous amount to do them all at once.

And he doesn’t regret it, loves the three new marks and the way they cover up his past, lifting a weight from his shoulders, but he wasn’t ready for –

“So it’s official then?” Louis demands.

Zayn shifts so his arm is mostly hidden (even though it’s too late because Liam has definitely seen, and Liam’s the only one who matters). “It’s been official for two months now.”

Louis waves him off, smiling brightly. “Ya but this is better. This is –”

“Permanent,” Liam breathes, and everyone hears how choked his voice is.

Louis’s eyes widen in surprise and then darken with guilt, and Zayn gets it. He knows that Louis didn’t mean to do this, didn’t think it through, and Louis definitely feels bad about it as they all register the way Liam’s staring sharply at Zayn’s hidden arm.

(But Zayn’s still a bit pissed because he wasn’t _ready_ for this yet).

The air grows heavy and thin in an instant, like they’ve dropped a story underground. The silence is oppressive.

Zayn’s eyes lock on Liam’s and an exchange of knowledge passes between them silently. Liam recognized the art, Zayn knows immediately, and now Zayn’s confirming it with a short nod because he’s not going to lie about it. But it makes the air even thicker between them, because Liam’s not an idiot, and he’s going to realize –

“Alright,” Harry calls loudly, shattering the silence as he grabs both Niall and Louis. “Let’s take a van back to the hotel lads. Mummy and Daddy need to talk.”

Zayn means to watch them go, to maybe turn pleading eyes on them and make them stay, but he can’t look away from Liam. Liam who is coming slowly forward with his hands outstretched as soon as they’re alone. “Can I –?” he murmurs, eyes slipping to Zayn’s uncovered arm once more.

“Ya,” Zayn breathes without hesitation because _it’s Liam_ , shifting his arm forward so that Liam can grasp it. He tries not to shudder at Liam’s warm skin against his as Liam turns his bicep so he can more clearly see the sharp lines, and Liam’s eyes trace them eagerly.

“It’s – is it – these are from your spare room,” Liam stutters.

Zayn just nods because yes, they are. He chose three pieces from that room, three images that scream Liam to him, and he covered Perrie with them. Ridiculously symbolic, he knows, but he still felt better afterwards as he stared at the red skin and the scattering of lines that no longer formed an image of his mistake. Or well, one of his mistakes, because these lines also paint a mistake he made, but one that still connects him to Liam.

They show Liam, all three of the pieces, and they tie in with the break up and Zayn’s pain and every feeling from the past two years. A pair of shredded lungs, black and angry, a tipped over spray paint can, leaking blue down his arm, and –

_Just let me know_

It’s written in his own hand just under the lungs and above the can, and that’s the redeeming part of the piece. That’s the reason he stares at his skin every morning, because despite everything he still hopes –

Liam traces the words with a shaking fingertip, over and over until Zayn feels like he’s about to shake apart.

“Explain them to me?” Liam whispers with wide and hungry eyes as he looks up at Zayn again.

And it’s – it’s not quite what Zayn wants to hear, but it’s damn close. Liam’s asking him for an explanation, a real one, talking to him about it again, and Zayn swears his heart beats harder in his chest because of it.

“I –”

Liam quickly shakes his head. “No. Not here. The hotel.”

His hand slides down Zayn’s arm, tracing the rest of his ink with idle fingers, until he reaches Zayn’s hand. He doesn’t even hesitate before he threads their fingers together, and Zayn can’t catch his breath as Liam tugs gently on their clasped hands to lead Zayn to the door.

 

* * *

 

The entire ride back to the hotel, Zayn stays pressed up against Liam’s side, their hands clasped like Zayn’s afraid that Liam will disappear or doubt or dismiss what’s happened. He’s petrified that he won’t get a chance to explain, and it’s alarming how desperately he wants no, _needs_ to explain now. The words are piling up on his tongue until he’s got a mountain of things to say, poetic words and halting words and loving words, and Zayn’s thrumming.

Liam’s wide hand splayed on his back as they climb into the elevator stills him, but he still watches the numbers change with overeager eyes, and he still darts down the hallway. Liam doesn’t fight him as Zayn drags him to his own hotel room, fumbling the key with antsy fingers.

When they finally get into the hotel room, Liam tugs on Zayn’s hand again until Zayn’s turned back towards him, and then Liam’s fingers are on the hem of Zayn’s shirt tugging it up. Zayn lifts his arms obligingly, understanding that Liam needs to see the tattoos again, and sure enough, Liam’s fingers trace the ink as soon as he tosses the shirt in the general direction of Zayn’s bag.

Liam traces all three, every single line, before drifting back up to the lungs and halting. He looks at Zayn through his lashes, unbearably shy, and it throws Zayn back to the X Factor days. He has to swallow to clear his dry throat, but he doesn’t look away.

“This was on one of the walls,” Liam murmurs quietly even though it’s just the two of them in the rather large room. “In your spare room, you painted this.”

“Lungs,” Zayn supplies, glancing at the image under his skin. “They’re lungs.”

Liam nods, but a slight frown tugs at his lips. “They’re... Can you explain? I usually understand, but this –”

He breaks off, looking down and away from Zayn, and Zayn, he can’t stand that. Without thought he nudges a finger under Liam’s chin tilting his head up so Zayn can see his eyes. It’s one of Zayn’s favorite things in the world, something he’d almost forgotten, how much he loves looking into Liam’s eyes.

“I kind of told you before,” Zayn admits, biting slightly at his bottom lip. “In the paint room, about breathing.”

“You said you felt like you couldn’t breathe when you... when we broke up.”

Zayn nods. “That’s what it represents. I broke up with you, and I couldn’t breathe anymore. It felt like I took a shredder to my lungs, so I painted it. But also, I mean I couldn’t breathe ya, but I also realized that like you were my lungs. You were, no _are_ vital to me, Li, but not like a heart y’know? Hearts represent too much; they’re too complicated. You were always so simple, simple and vital. My lungs. And then I wrecked it.”

Zayn has to suck in a deep breath of air, like he’s trying to reinforce what he’s saying. “So I picked it as a reminder. Like that I can’t survive without you – because fuck, I really can’t Liam – but also to remind myself of what I’ve done.”

And if it was anyone else, they might tell Zayn that he doesn’t need to remind himself, that he should just let it go, but it’s not anyone else. It’s Liam, and he understands that Zayn actually does need this reminder, need it in a way that he could never explain with words.

So Liam just nods, and his fingers drag down to the paint can, tapping at it once in a silent request for Zayn to explain.

“I painted that more recently,” Zayn admits. “Like the lungs I painted years ago, when I first ruined everything. But the paint can was probably about five months ago. I was just – I was so lost, and I paint when I feel that way. But I was painting so much because I always felt lost. Like it didn’t matter how much I painted or what I painted, the feeling never went away. Because I was lost without you, and I couldn’t have you anymore. All I had was the paint, and it wasn’t enough. So I sketched the empty can to like capture that I guess.”

“Blue?” Liam smudges his thumb along the vibrant color.

Zayn’s lips tilt up, just slightly. “It’s your favorite color, man.”

Liam snorts, “Sappy boy.”

“I avoided it for a while,” Zayn admits. “Like I wouldn’t use it. But when I finally admitted to myself how badly I had fucked up, when I finally realized that I had made an honest mistake, no matter my reasons, I clung to it instead. I swear everything in that room was blue for ages.”

“When was that?” Liam asks quietly. “The blue room?”

“About a year ago.”

Liam’s eyes dart up, wide with surprise. “You realized a year ago that...?”

Zayn’s thumb goes up to trace across Liam’s cheek bone, and they’re standing dangerously close now, nearly wrapped up in each other. “I know that I made it seem like it was easy for me, Li, but it wasn’t. A year ago I finally admitted that I was wrong, that I shouldn’t have done it. But even before that, I wanted to take it back. Even when I was still lying to myself about how breaking up with you was the right thing to do, it was a struggle every single day not to beg for you back. You have to know that.”

He can tell that he’s knocked Liam breathless with the admission, knows from experience what that feels like. So he isn’t surprised when Liam almost gasps out, “The words. Tell me about the words.”

Zayn glances at the words, not really seeing them but seeing instead the most recent piece he did on his walls at home. He didn’t really have room to tattoo the whole thing on his arm, but he thinks the words actually look better by themselves. They make more sense.

“I painted after you left that day,” Zayn says slowly. “Threw on my trousers and just went at the wall. The actual image isn’t that important, it’s like a vague outline honestly, but when I was done with it, it didn’t look complete. And then, before I really thought about it, I was writing these words out. They were – I said them –”

“You said them to me just before I left,” Liam whispers. “I remember. It was the last thing you said. _Just let me know_.”

“Ya,” Zayn shrugs. “It was all I could think to offer.”

“But why ink the words?” Liam asks.

“Because it’s a promise, and I’ve broken quite a few promises to you, I know that. I inked Perrie into my skin to remind myself that I couldn’t have you anymore because of all the promises I had broken. So when I decided to ink over it, I wanted a new promise. The last promise I made to you, the only one I could. I put these words here hoping that maybe you’d accept that, my new promise.”

“Poetic,” Liam teases, but his voice comes out wobbly. “Should’ve been a writer, Malik.”

 _I’d write about you,_ dances across Zayn’s tongue, but he doesn’t say it. He’s said enough. Fuck, he’s said so much, the most he’s probably ever said, and he feels raw with it. Exposed like he’s never been because he’s never been so completely honest. And he should be terrified. He should be terribly frightened, but he’s not.

He’s not because it’s Liam, and he trusts Liam. He trusts Liam with his entire self.

So he waits. He waits without speaking as Liam continues to study him and his new ink. As the moment lengthens, Liam’s eyes skitter away, and Zayn’s heart drops.

“You broke my heart y’know.”

Zayn closes his eyes, fighting sudden tears. “I know.”

“Like you really – you shattered me,” Liam goes on, fingers still dancing all over Zayn’s bare skin like he just can’t help it. They haven’t moved away from each other, and Zayn clings to that, clings to Liam. “I didn’t think I’d ever feel right again, and I didn’t. Two years, and I never quite managed to feel whole again.”

“Li –”

“Shhhh,” Liam’s hand dances up Zayn’s bare back, up his neck until it tangles in his hair. “And now you’re telling me that you felt the same. You’re telling me, no proving to me, that it wasn’t what I thought. You didn’t fall out of love with me. You still love me.”

It’s not a question, but Zayn still says, “I will always love you.”

“I believe you.”

Zayn’s eyes open in surprise because he thought – “What?”

Liam grins at him slightly. “I’ve been thinking about your reasons. The hate and the pressure and how I was hurting, and I get it. I was miserable, and I wanted more from you and you were afraid, so I understand why you did it. I don’t – I wish you hadn’t. But I understand, and I forgive you.

“And I believe that you never stopped loving me. The more I think over the past two years, the more I remember. Funny, isn’t it? That I have to remember when I’m not the one with memory loss? But like, when I thought back over it, it made more sense. The way you hovered around me still. Like when I broke my wrist, remember? And you helped me like it was instinct. It never made sense to me, but now it does.”

And Zayn does remember that, and Liam’s right. It was instinct, pure instinct to help Liam, and he never said anything about it, never offered up an explanation, and by that time he and Liam were so fucked up that Liam never asked.

“And now,” Liam continues, eyes tracing Zayn’s features with a fondness that stops Zayn’s heart. “Now we’re here, and you’re trying so hard. You’re telling me everything, and you’re making promises, fucking permanent promises on your skin, Zayn. And I can see a pile of my clothes in your duffel, and I just – I believe you.”

“You believe me?” Zayn echoes.

“I believe you,” Liam breaks into a blinding grin. “And I love you.”

Zayn lets out a relieved laugh, and he swears his shredded lungs have finally healed as he gulps air like he’s been drowning. He presses his forehead against Liam’s, going almost cross-eyed in his mad attempt to keep his eyes on him. His heart swells, and he feels like the fucking Grinch, but he can’t care because Liam’s grinning back at him like he feels the same.

“You love me,” Zayn repeats. “And fuck, I love you.”

Liam laughs, and Zayn wants to swallow the sound.

He wants to press every inch of his skin against Liam, to make a thousand promises to him and seal every single one with a kiss against a new patch of skin. He wants, he wants, he wants.

But first –

“Li, does this mean – are you – have you –?”

“Zayn,” Liam says softly, interrupting his nervous ramble, and fuck, Liam’s pure joy shining back at Zayn as he smiles. And he gets it. He understands exactly what Zayn needs to hear, what Liam wants to say. “I’m letting you know.”

And that – those are the words that Zayn’s been waiting to hear. I believe you. I understand. I forgive you. I love you. I’m letting you know.

It’s all – it means everything to Zayn. This boy in his arms means everything to Zayn, and he can’t help the way he surges forward, lips bruising themselves against Liam’s.

Liam responds instantly, but he gentles the kiss. It becomes a soft press, a gentle tongue tracing Zayn’s bottom lip leaving him breathless and dizzy because every soft push feels like a declaration of love. But it’s a hungry kiss all the same, and Zayn’s blood is buzzing.

They move so fucking slow.

Liam gentles him into an embrace with sweet kisses, and Zayn’s falling swiftly under the pull until Liam’s hitching him up and carrying him to the bed. He presses down onto him, rocking their hips until their cocks catch, and Zayn hisses.

“Shhhh,” Liam smiles into Zayn’s collarbone, biting gently and then licking to soothe the skin. “I’ve got you babe.”

“Leeyum,” Zayn whines out, fingers dragging over the skin of Liam’s bare back because they tugged each other out of their clothes at some point, and Zayn’s delirious with want.

“I want to take it slow,” Liam whispers into Zayn’s panting mouth, brown eyes dark with desire as Zayn writhes underneath him. The slow roll of his hips is pure _torture_ and Zayn realizes, _oh._ Liam ducks down to whisper directly into Zayn’s ear, “I want to take it so slow. I want to rock into you gently, get you so close on just my cock. I want to build you up so softly that you don’t realize until you cum. I want it slow.”

Zayn’s rasping in haggard breaths, and Liam pulls back with a satisfied smirk, like he _knows_ that Zayn’s incoherent at his words.

“How does that sound, baby?” he mouths against Zayn’s chest. “Or I could blow you until you’re right on the edge? Eat you out until you’re sobbing? What do you want, Zayn?”

“You,” Zayn gasps as Liam’s tongue dips into his navel, and the hotel sheets are a cool contrast on his back to Liam’s burning warmth. “I want you. I want you to do what you want. Whatever you want.”

Liam hums, cheek rubbing against Zayn’s painfully hard cock as he presses a kiss to the dark heart on Zayn’s hip, and Zayn has to look away because fuck –

“I want you to fall apart on my cock,” Liam says finally, after tracing the v of Zayn’s hips with his tongue. “I want you to sob as you cum because I’ve fucked you until you can’t even think. I want you to _feel_ it tomorrow every time you move.”

“Yes,” Zayn agrees, rolling his hips up in a desperate attempt for some friction. But Liam just moves with him easily, denying him that friction. “Liam, please, yes. Fuck me slow. Make me feel it. I want –”

Liam surges upward and silences Zayn with a chaste kiss that does nothing to alleviate the bomb that’s ticking in Zayn’s chest, he swears. “Alright, babe,” Liam agrees.

Zayn whines when Liam leaves, but then he’s back with a bottle of lube clenched in his hand, and he’s smiling softly at Zayn as he looks down on him, spread out over the bed, and it’s burning in Zayn’s chest. It’s making Zayn squirm because Liam’s looking at him how he used to look at him, when they were still completely wrapped up in untarnished love, and he’s choking on his own happiness because it feels like that again.

It feels like love – pure, unabashed love – as Liam presses soft kisses to Zayn’s parted lips, tongue tracing his mouth slowly like Liam needs Zayn to feel every little movement, and Zayn’s not usually knocked so breathless by slow, prefers rough and fast, but he feels full with how great this is as Liam positions them on the bed and slicks up his fingers, distracting Zayn with short, sweet kisses the entire time.

Liam opens him up slow, soft fingers and lots of lube, and Zayn’s a panting mess by the time he’s up to three because Liam finds his prostate so goddamn easily. He twists his fingers until Zayn’s nearly crying, and Zayn’s not usually this loud in bed, but Liam’s taking him apart.

And finally, when Liam presses the head of his cock in, Zayn gasps, “I love you. Liam – Jaan – I love you.”

Liam thrusts, slow so slow, until he’s fully within Zayn, nudging his prostate, and then he leans down. “I love you too. Zayn. Baby. Jaan.”

And it’s all slow rolls of his hips, shallow thrusts, and grinding against Zayn’s prostate from there until Zayn really can’t breathe. He’s hitching in shattered breaths, and he’s clinging to Liam. He’s begging, and he’s nearly sobbing with how great it all feels.

“Feel so good,” Liam gasps as he thrusts again. Zayn whines. “Feel so good around my cock, Zayn, so tight. Christ, I love you. Want you to cum, babe, please, cum on my cock –”

Zayn cries out as Liam hits his prostate once more, grinding there until Zayn’s on fire with the feeling. And still Liam goes so slowly until Zayn’s orgasm is washing over him without warning, and Zayn’s left drowning in it, drowning in Liam.

He’s sobbing with it, barely conscious, but he chokes out, “Li, you too, please, I want –”

And Liam’s nodding, head buried in Zayn’s chest pressing open-mouthed kisses as he finally thrusts harder into Zayn. He moves in Zayn, who is overly sensitive, cock trapped between them, but he clings to Liam as Liam moves, and then he’s tensing with his own orgasm, calling out Zayn’s name.

They collapse together, and Liam pulls out, but Zayn refuses to let him roll away. No, Zayn shifts until they’re both on their sides but wrapped together. Their legs tangle underneath the thin sheets, and Zayn presses harder into Liam’s sweat-slick side, and their breathing synchronizes automatically.

Liam’s fingers dance through the long hair on Zayn’s head, and Zayn presses his face into the crook of Liam’s neck to inhale him, fingers pressing hard into Liam’s chest just over his heart.

“I love you,” he blurts, because he’s bursting with it.

Liam chuckles, tilting Zayn’s head up with a casual finger. His brown eyes are warm, so familiar, as he gazes down at Zayn, and it’s a fondness that Zayn hasn’t seen in years. It’s everything familiar and desperately missed. It’s Liam, pure Liam, and it’s exactly what Zayn wants, has wanted since he was seventeen years old. And there’s so much affection in Liam’s expression, so much love, that Zayn doesn’t even need him to say it back.

But Liam does, quietly because they don’t need to convince each other anymore. No it’s a whisper because it’s just between the two of them, already proven and permanent now in a way it wasn’t before.

“I love you too.”

 

* * *

 

Eight Months Later

 

“Christ you two are sickening.”

“Hey,” Harry whines, nudging Niall with his knee where they sit together on Zayn’s second sofa.

Niall snorts. “Not you two. Them.”

Zayn lifts his head at that, glaring at Niall as his fingers stop threading through Liam’s slightly longer hair. Liam whines, but Zayn ignores him to demand, “What?”

“Don’t even,” Louis laughs from where he’s sprawled out on the floor, one hand stretched to wrap around Harry’s ankle, and ya okay that is weird, but Zayn’s not going to say anything.

(None of them are saying anything about Louis and Harry. He and Liam and Niall refuse to ask what Louis and Harry are now, why they’re always touching, what it means that Louis finally publically broke up with Eleanor five months ago. It’s a big step for them, and Zayn’s hopeful, especially considering the large sweater Louis is currently drowning in which is definitely Harry’s).

“What?” Liam echoes, turning his head on Zayn’s lap so that he can look out at the others. He’s sprawled over the other couch, wearing a pair of joggers and one of Zayn’s shirts that he’s surely stretching out.

“Come off it,” Niall rolls his eyes. “I was talking about the two of you. Disgusting, you are.”

Niall nudges Harry until Harry’s agreeing with him.

“You guys are always touching,” Harry mumbles.

“Seriously?” Zayn shoots a pointed look at Harry’s ankle, and Liam buries a snort in Zayn’s knee. “At least we’re normal about it.”

Louis sticks his tongue out at Zayn, fingers tightening around Harry’s ankle in defiance.

“Normal?” Niall echoes in disbelief. “You two’ve been staring at each other instead of the movie for the past hour. Just staring and smiling! That’s not normal.”

“It’s not fair either,” Harry pouts. “None of us even wanted to watch this.”

Liam and Zayn both glance at each other and then at the screen where Steve Rogers is currently riding his motorbike through the forest. “It’s Marvel,” they both argue in tandem.

“See?” Niall pounds his fist into the arm of the sofa like a judge delivering a sentence. “Speaking at the same time! Not normal.”

“Disgusting,” Louis tacks on.

“We are not,” Zayn mutters, frowning. Liam automatically tangles his fingers with Zayn’s which had been tracing idle designs on his chest. He brings their clasped hands to his mouth and rubs Zayn’s knuckles over his lips until Zayn melts into a smile. Liam beams back at him.

“Are you joking?” Niall demands flatly, sounding fondly frustrated. “You’re already being gross again!”

“You don’t have to be here,” Zayn shoots back carelessly. “It’s our house.” He tries to ignore the way Liam flushes at that, but he can’t because making Liam flush is still one of his favorite things. (It’s been months since Zayn asked Liam to move in with him again, months since Liam unpacked his boxes, months that they’ve been living together, and still Liam glows with it).

“You invited us over,” Harry argues.

“Ya, so stop looking at each other like you just want to fuck,” Louis laughs.

Zayn raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “I do want to fuck.”

Liam smacks a playful hand against Zayn’s chest, trying to look disapproving, but he ruins it by flushing and grinning like he’s mad.

(And Zayn’s wondering if Liam’s still loose from when he fucked him that morning in the kitchen, if maybe he can convince Liam to rim him tonight until he’s sobbing with it, if they can sneak away...)

Liam’s eyes darken like he can hear what Zayn’s thinking, and Zayn’s suddenly very aware of how close Liam is to his cock. Liam’s tongue slides out over his lips, and Zayn’s dick twitches.

“Seriously?” Louis demands, losing the trace of humor in his voice. “Can you two even go five seconds without looking at each other? Aren’t you sick of your faces?”

“I am,” Niall chimes, and Zayn chucks a pillow at him.

He’s about to repeat the fact that they don’t have to be here, when Harry’s laughter snags all of their attention.

“Have you two not seen the other room then?” Harry’s green eyes snap with feigned innocence as he blinks at them, smile tilting with mischief – fucking Louis Tomlinson – and Zayn glares at him.

“Harry –” Zayn warns as Liam does a poor job of covering his laughter.

“No,” Niall and Louis yelp together, both sitting up straight in excitement as their eyes widen.

“You should –” Harry starts.

“No, wait –” Zayn tries.

Louis and Niall barely spare each other a glance before they’re both off, racing for Zayn’s spare room and shoving each other. Zayn curses, scrambling after them and dislodging Liam in his haste. He’s too late though, smacking into their backs as they take up the open doorway, having sprinted down the hallway.

“Move,” he hisses, but neither are listening. They’re both gaping at the room beyond, and even from behind them, Zayn can make out the images on all four walls. Zayn tries to squeeze past them to slam the door shut, but Louis realizes and hauls Niall inside the room with him before Zayn can grab the door handle.

“Christ, Malik,” he laughs, blue eyes tracing the walls with wry amusement. “Thought Li was the sappy one.”

“Sickening,” Niall agrees with a sage nod, like he knew all along that Zayn was hiding this in his back room.  

This being the same paintings that have covered the walls for going on two years now except different. Different because Zayn’s erased the worse pieces and put up new ones, and it’s more colorful now, and Louis’s right (damn him); it is sappy.

“I think it’s sweet,” Harry argues as he and Liam enter behind them.

Louis instantly moves to Harry’s side, wrapping his arms around him and cooing. “Of course you do, sweetheart, because you’re sappy like Liam.”

“And Zayn,” Niall cackles.

“Shut up, Horan,” Zayn kicks belligerently at Niall’s foot as he marches past him and straight into Liam’s waiting arms. Burying his face in Liam’s neck, he pinches his side for the stupid grin and flush that Liam has right now. “I hate you all,” he mumbles into Liam’s skin as Liam’s arms tighten around him in comfort.

“You don’t hate Liam,” Louis practically sings. “Obviously.”

Zayn doesn’t need to look up to know that all four of them are studying the walls again. He also doesn’t need to look up to know exactly what they’re seeing.

It’s all Liam still, pieces and snatches of him from their daily life, so much brighter than what it was before. But tangled among the images of Liam now are slivers of Zayn here and there.

Liam’s doing, really, Zayn swears. He’d never intended to splash their relationship on these walls, but –

_“You and me, Zayn,” Liam whispers as he wraps himself around Zayn’s back, having caught him painting in the middle of the night. “It should be you and me.”_

\- And then Liam had coated their hands in paint and pressed their handprints to the wall, pinkies overlapping and well, Zayn’s helpless to deny Liam anything.

So now Zayn’s spaced in among Liam, and it’s a mess of their life now with no clear intent, and Zayn loves it.

(Loves it the way he loves Liam. The way he now wakes up beside Liam every single morning, the way they’d told their families and Liam’s mum had embraced Zayn like he’d never done anything wrong. Loves this room the way he loves how they fell back together, and it’s not always pretty and it will never be what it was but sometimes Zayn swears its better now. And he’d still take back what he did if he could, but Liam, he swears that he wouldn’t, and that takes Zayn’s breath away, the way Liam clearly loves Zayn just as much as he did before, just as much as Zayn loves him).

“I don’t hate you either,” Liam whispers now in Zayn’s ear, and Zayn laughs.

“What’s with this?” Louis asks, curious as ever.

Zayn groans and reluctantly pulls himself away from Liam. He refuses to leave the circle of Liam’s arms though, pressing his back to Liam’s chest as he spins to find what has grabbed Louis’s attention.

He can’t stop himself from blurting out a laugh when he sees though, and Liam chuckles into Zayn’s shoulder.

Zayn’s not surprised that Louis asked about this piece. Not only is it the biggest, but it’s also the oddest, standing out from all the others.

A black imprint of hands held up in supplication mars the center of the far wall, and cradled in the hands is an anatomically correct heart dripping reds and blues. It’s meant to be disturbing, alarming with the way the hands are offering the heart up, bleeding and alive like that. Scrawled below the image are words, and Zayn doesn’t need to look at them to know what they say.

_Just let me know._

It’s the image he painted the day he finally told Liam everything, and Zayn said that he added the words because it hadn’t seemed complete without them. Liam had pointed out, however, that it still wasn’t done when he’d moved in with Zayn during their first break on tour. They’d done the other half together, and Zayn looks at the sloppier half with a dopey grin because it was mostly Liam’s doing, and Zayn loves anything that Liam does.

Liam, with Zayn’s coerced guidance, painted another hand, reaching for the heart with thick but gentle fingers. The pointer finger is barely touching the heart, but it is touching it, and just above it Liam wrote:

_I’m letting you know._

It was the first painting done that showed _them_ instead of just Liam, and Zayn’s ridiculously in love with it.

“Li,” Harry’s puzzled voice interrupts the silence as Louis waits impatiently for Zayn to answer. “Don’t you have a tattoo that says that?”

Liam blushes, and Zayn smiles widely at him, fingers automatically seeking out the skin just below Liam’s left elbow crease. The words run in two lines, perpendicular to Liam’s veins, and they’re just as Harry said.

_I’m letting you know._

Zayn traces them as the other three look on with amusement.

“You got the other ones then?” Louis rolls his eyes like he already knows.

Zayn just grins wider at Liam as Liam’s hand moves up to dance careful fingers just under the sleeve of Zayn’s shirt. He traces the words from memory, and Zayn shivers, pressing closer even though it hurts his neck to bend this way.

_Just let me know._

And it was a random conversation one morning, where Liam proposed the idea –

_“I want to get a tattoo,” Liam says._

_Zayn groans, because he’s still mostly asleep, dead tired from the three rounds of sex they’d had the night before, not that he regrets that for a single moment. “Lovely,” he sighs into the bed sheet._

_Liam laughs, nudging Zayn with his knee under the covers because neither of them has gotten up yet this morning. “I’m serious you prat. I want words.”_

_“Great,” Zayn replies._

_“Don’t you want to know what words I want?”_

_Zayn sighs, cracking his eyes open to see a blurry Liam pouting at him. “What words do you want, Li?”_

_Liam grins beautifully. “I think I want – I’m letting you know.”_

_And it takes Zayn a moment, in his sleepy state, but then –_

_“Oh.”_

_Liam flushes, grin still present as his nervous eyes dart to the side. “Does that – Is that okay, then? Or is it stupid?”_

_And Zayn’s scrambling up, sheet slipping off, but he doesn’t care. He clambers on top of Liam, who falls back in surprise, and Zayn takes full advantage of that, caging Liam in with his arms and his legs. Zayn looks at him with serious and evaluating eyes. “Ya?”_

_Liam nods, chewing on his bottom lip. “Ya. You already have the other ones, and I – it’s like a promise, ya?”_

_“Ya,” Zayn breathes out, heart swelling because Liam wants to make this promise to him, and Liam will never cease to amaze Zayn; he really won’t._

Zayn sat with Liam as he got the tattoo, hands clasped in a physical representation of that promise, and if the tattoos happen to be on the arms they most often press together, well then that’s just a coincidence.

“Of fucking course you do.”

Harry shushes Niall, grinning madly at them both as he squeezes closer to Louis.

And Zayn –

He’s just really fucking happy as he turns in Liam’s arms to press more firmly against him. Liam responds by tightening his arms as Zayn stretches slightly to run his nose along Liam’s jaw, inhaling deeply because he can breathe again. Liam hums in contentment, pulse jumping in his throat as he presses back against Zayn.

The tattoos were a promise to always let the other know. Know how much they love each other, mean to each other, need each other, want each other. It’s a promise that Zayn intends to keep for the rest of his life, and if he’s thinking about making it more permanent (with official papers and a stupid ceremony and shiny rings worn on certain fingers) well...

“Just let me know,” Liam whispers in Zayn’s ear, and it still sounds every bit like the promise they made eight months ago when they finally found their way back to each other.

Zayn can’t stop his mouth from stretching into a large grin that he’ll deny if Louis teases him about it, but right now he pulls back a bit to look at Liam. He can breathe again, but his breath still hitches at how fucking beautiful Liam is, smiling back at him with affection radiating from his warm brown eyes, and Zayn has no idea how he lost his memories and gained so much.

But fuck he’s so grateful for it all, as he laughs and easily whispers back (putting his entire heart, his entire mind, fuck his entire soul behind the words), “I’m letting you know.”


End file.
